


Taking Control

by avengerslut



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/M, Hydra (Marvel), Lemon, Marvel Universe, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex, Smut, graphic depictions of rape, graphic smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-19 02:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17593280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avengerslut/pseuds/avengerslut
Summary: Bucky Barnes is still recovering from the lasting effects of Hydra after joining the Avengers. One of his therapy tactics is to take control over more situations and make decisions for himself. But what happens when the only situation he wants to get into is one with the girl from the café?COMPLETED





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Inside each of us, there is a seed of both good and evil. It’s a constant struggle as to which one will win. And one cannot exist without the other.”
> 
> -Eric Burdon
> 
> —
> 
> Intense non-con/rape smut. Please don’t read if you’re not into this sort of thing!

He’s back again. I wipe my froth-coated fingers onto my brown apron and lean casually against the counter to observe him in the corner of my eye. The mysterious man reclines at a small table in the corner clutching his cup of coffee that remains untouched.

The café is bustling with people in the early morning, but I can still feel his intimidating presence as if it’s just me and him in the small building. Every so often I turn around to prepare a drink and can feel the hairs on the back of my neck prick up, but as soon as I turn his eyes flick downward immediately.

One morning I asked the other barista, Rachel, to keep an eye on him for me. “Yeah, if you’re not looking it’s like his eyes are glued to you,” she had revealed in a murmur as she topped some drinks with foam. “But he’s cute! You should write your number on a cup for him. I do it all the time,” she laughed.

It was true- he’s tall and, as far as I can tell, incredibly sculpted. His ever-present baseball cap conceals some of his face, but I’ve noticed his plump lips within a shadow of trimmed stubble, as well as the chestnut locks that brush his chin. It didn’t matter anyhow- his presence still rubs me the wrong way. I never see him come or go, let alone speak to any fellow customers or do anything much other than stare.

Suddenly I’m interrupted from my careful observation by a customer. I prepare their drink and manage not to peek back until I hand them the cup. Much to my chagrin, the small table is empty when I turn back. I shrug to myself and complete the rest of the shift undisturbed, albeit a bit wary.

 

 

Bucky Barnes returns from the café to the Avengers tower with his mind in a frenzy and a hot ball of emotions tossing in his stomach. He strips off his jacket and hat on the way to the gym. Without bothering to wrap his knuckles he approaches a punching bag and begins pummeling it with a flurry of sharp hits. Grunts slip from his lips as the bag flails wildly under his enhanced assault. Steve Rogers enters the room concernedly just as the bag snaps off its hook and flies to the other end of the room with a shout from Bucky’s mouth.

“Buck? You okay?” he asks tentatively as Bucky collapses onto a bench and buries his face in his hands.

Bucky hesitates before responding in a muffled voice. ‘You said I need to find ways to be in control, right?” Bucky mutters from his hands.

“What?”

“During my therapy. I need to seek out ways in my life where I can be in control? Where I can take hold of the situation.”

“Well, yeah, of course. You’ve been under the influence of other people for so long, you should start taking your life by the reins. Make your own decisions, figure out what you want and pursue it.” He sits down next to Bucky. “Why?”

“She’s the only thing I want. I need her,” Bucky mumbles in response, more to himself than Steve, who prods him slightly.

“The girl from the café?” He nods once.

“Well, what if you just approach her? Ask her for lunch or something. She’s definitely noticed you at the café, you’re there every morning,” Steve suggests.

Bucky laughs once, sharply. “Are you kidding? I’m a fucking mess. I can barely approach some people here, let alone a stranger. And everything… else that’s happening doesn’t help either.”

“Everything else?”

Bucky’s face turns dark. He inhales sharply and refuses to meet Steve’s eyes.

“I have these… thoughts. And dreams. All the time. About her.” Steve remains quiet, so he continues. “I do things to her. I ...fuck her. Sometimes she wants it, sometimes she doesn’t, but every time I do it anyway. It feels too good and I want her too much. It feels so good to have control, too.”

Steve blinks and ponders the information. He’s strangely unfazed at the dark and dirty revelation. It pains him to see his best friend stuck in such a dark place, and every fiber of his being wants to do whatever it takes to help Bucky out. He rests a hand on his best friend’s shoulder.

“Come on. Let’s get those knuckles bandaged up and we can figure this out.” He gestures at Bucky’s hands, which Bucky himself is surprised to notice are bloodied. The two men withdraw to Steve’s quarters for the evening, the conversation extending long into the twilight behind closed doors.

 

 

I have the evening shift alone at the café the next day. Customers dwindle near the end of hours, and it’s easy enough to man the place solo. My feet ache as the clock drags painfully toward 9pm- closing time. By 8:45 the final few customers have cleared out and I hang up my apron to begin cleaning up some of the equipment and putting supplies away.

Suddenly the light chime of the bell near the door sings from the front and I peek up tiredly over the counter, vaguely interested in who was so _dying_ for a coffee that they waltzed in ten minutes before closing time.

My stomach drops sickeningly when I catch sight of him standing stock-still a few steps from the doorway. He’s neither at the entrance nor at the counter, simply motionless in the center of the room.

I can feel my heart nearly beat out of my chest and I swallow before speaking in a flat, polite tone. “Can I help you?” My smile is tight and vanishes quickly.

He steps forward and I finally catch a good glimpse of his face. His eyes are a steely blue and fixed on mine unabashedly. His hair tickles his stubbled chin and sharp jawline. His pink lips are slightly parted, like a child in wonder. He’s even taller then I imagined while standing, a solid six feet dressed in dark jeans and a black jacket over a t-shirt of the same sinister color. He’s handsome, sure, but dangerously so.

He steps forward and I grip the counter until my knuckles turn white. I subconsciously think of the knife block behind me. It would take me two seconds to get there, but I’d have to go now before he got any closer.

“I think you know what I want,” he responds. His voice is deadpan and slightly gravelly, like it doesn’t get much use. My stomach clenches at his tone, but I choose to play dumb.

“I really don’t, and I’m just about to close the place so…” I gesture at the menu above me and give him an impatient raise of my eyebrows. A smirk plays about his emotionless features and he steps forward again, thrusting a hand into his jacket. I tense and ready myself to rush to the knife block as he suddenly retrieves two crumpled dollar bills. He approaches the counter and slides them over with one finger, seemingly pleased at my tense reaction.

“One small black coffee. Please.”

I stare at the bills for a second before nodding with a curt smile. I keep him in my peripheral vision as I turn slightly to grab a cup. I rummage through the box of cups and lids I’ve packed up, growing more and more irritated when I fail to find one quickly. Finally I turn quickly to look into the box, taking my eyes off the man.

That was my first mistake.

I hear a rush of movement behind me and immediately spin around with stone cold dread dripping down my shoulders. He’s either sprinted around the counter or slid over it, because he’s now standing inches behind me. He doesn’t move as I gasp and back away with an angry “What the hell, man?!”

The tip of a pink tongue darts over his lips and his eyes rake up and down my body. My stomach churns under his calculating gaze. “That’s it, get out. Now,” I bark.

This time his face breaks into a full grin. His hand snatch me by the hips with inhuman speed and he uses his body to shove mine backward until I’m against the counter. His hips grind into mine in an effort to keep me trapped as he tilts his head with a knowing smile. He’s tall and incredibly strong and overpowers me easily, but I still thrash around in his grip. “What the fuck?! Let me go you fucking psycho! Let me GO!”

I snap at his face with my teeth but in an instant he’s holding both of my arms behind my back with one hand and roughly grabbing my jaw with the other. His lips nearly brush mine as he whispers, “ _Shhhhh_.”

His hand releases my face as I stand frozen in fear. A fingertip trails underneath my chin and tilts it upward. His face drops suddenly to the crook of my neck and caresses my skin with his stubble. Repulsion flares in my stomach as his mouth parts to trail teeth down my neck before assaulting my collarbone with hard sucking and kisses. Thinking quickly, I take the opportunity to lean back slightly, seemingly allowing him access to more of my neck. He smiles against my skin and relaxes his grip.

 _Gotcha_ , _fucker_.

I pull back and slam my head against his and my knee to his crotch. He growls in anger and recoils. I take gasping breaths and sprint away from him with adrenaline pumping through my veins. I only get a few feet before I feel his hands snatch my waist. He turns powerfully and slams me down against the granite countertop.

He growls through heavy breaths. “Good. I like it better this way.”

His body molds onto mine as he bends me over the counter; his hard chest and legs keep me pressed firmly against it. The polished stone is cool against my hot cheek. His arm covers mine as he slides them to the end of the counter and interlaces my fingers with his, bringing his face next to mine. His groin is pressed against my ass and I nearly retch when I realize I can feel his hard arousal through his jeans.

Teeth nip at my earlobe and I can feel his hot breath against my ear. A single hot tear trails down my cheek. “Please, please don’t do this. I haven’t done anything to you, please, let me go. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Oh baby,” he murmurs huskily. “This is happening regardless of your consent.”

A large hand trails up my thigh and I curse the loose khaki shorts I chose to wear that day. The hand easily slips underneath them and grabs my ass, squeezing it and rubbing it roughly. It’s cold, too cold to be flesh. He moans lightly in my ear before seizing my shorts and tearing them off me in one powerful tug. I yelp as the cool air hits my ass and writhe vehemently beneath him. He pushes his body harder into mine to cease my struggle.

“Who are you?” I whimper to no response. “I’ve seen you at the café before. You’ve been watching me.”

He hesitates against me before speaking softly, his breath hot on my ear. “ _солдат_. _Soldat_.”

The voice is accented, maybe Russian? A shiver runs down my spine. His hand returns to my ass to caress it almost lovingly, tracing its curves and squeezing it gently. Suddenly I flinch as two fingers slide between my legs.

“No,” I choke out. His lips press into the back of my neck and he hums against my skin blissfully as the fingers stroke my folds. His fingers suddenly freeze on my pussy. We’re both stunned at the sudden and shocking discovery of my utter wetness that’s soaked through my panties and nearly down my thigh. He lifts his hand in wonder to hold in in front of my eyes. I cringe at the long fingers glistening with my lubrication. His voice is hoarse with lust.

“How about that? So eager to struggle, when in reality, you want me to bend you over this counter, to fuck you senseless…”

“No!” I shout, squirming against him. “Fuck you!”

“That was the plan.”

His fingers return to my pussy and tear my panties off in a single painful tug, leaving me completely exposed save for a loose t-shirt. I angrily bite back a moan as he skillfully strokes my folds and rubs my clit with a delicious pressure. It shouldn’t feel good, but he’s making me wetter and wetter. Soon a finger slips inside me and I gasp against the counter. It pumps within my pussy, sliding easily with my humiliating lubrication.

“So wet, so wet baby,” he moans in my ear. His finger slows before pulling out, now surely coated in slick. “I wonder how you taste?”

A bout of nausea rolls my stomach as I hear him suck off each of his fingers greedily. In a flash he spins my limp body to face him. His face is flushed, his blue eyes nearly black with lust. His lips are pink and wet with what I assume is the leftovers of his fingers.

“Taste yourself,” he growls before pulling my neck and forcing my lips to his. He kisses me roughly, prodding his tongue so far into my mouth that I nearly gag. His stubble scratches my face, harsh against my soft skin. I can taste myself on his lips. It’s humiliating and repulsive, allowing him to taste my most intimate area.

He pulls away suddenly with a smirk, turning me back around and pushing me flush again to the counter. I hear the quiet tinkle of metal against metal as he unclasps his belt and am wrought with fear. I thrash against him and the counter vigorously, screaming. “No, no, no, NO!”

A hand seizes my hair and painfully pulls my head to his lips. “Shut. Up,” he growls. He sinks his teeth into my neck as punishment, the sharp pain silencing me. Two hands grip my hips tightly. “I’ve been thinking about doing this since I first saw you,” he says in a voice dripping with malice. “I’ve never wanted to fuck someone so badly.”

I close my eyes at his lusty words. All the fight has left my body, and I beg. “Please. Please, please don’t.”

I hear his pants fall to the floor. “Keep begging. I want you to be pleading, screaming at me to stop when I’m pounding my cock into you.”

I shut my mouth, refusing to please him. But the moment I feel his tip line up at my entrance the begging returns with a vigor.

“Please, no! Don’t! I’ll do anything, I swear to God, please stop!”

“Fuck, baby doll, just like that,” he groans before pushing into me. My breath hitches in my chest at his enormous size and I moan outwardly in pain and fear. He’s huge, more than I’ve ever taken, and I’m almost thankful for his slow pace and my wetness. My fingernails scratch fruitlessly on the slick stone as he finally sheathes himself fully within me. He releases a loud moan when he fills me. My tender muscles struggle to adjust to his size as his fingernails bite into my hips in pleasure. Soon he rocks his hips slightly, causing an electricity of pleasure and pain to arc through my pussy.

“Wait!” I cry out, praying he’ll stop so I can get completely adjusted. To my surprise, he pauses. My heavy breathing finally slows and I feel him lean into my ear with a smug voice.

“Ready?”

I don’t respond, instead, a flare of white-hot anger causes me to reach back desperately to hurt him, scratch him until he bleeds. He laughs and tightens his grip on my waist as he rolls his hips into mine. He starts off slow before pulling nearly all the way out and slamming back into me. His moans become loud as he snaps his hips against mine, pounding into me with a force so wrongfully pleasurable that whimpers escape my lips.

The sound of skin slapping skin is accompanied by his moaning and cursing. “Feels, so, fucking, good,” he groans, punctuating each word with a deep thrust.

His lips meet my neck again to suck and kiss the skin with a fervor. My hatred for him boils my blood, but my head becomes hazy with bliss. It’s so bad that it feels so good, so wrong that it fills me with so much pleasure.

“Please… stop…” I gasp weakly between thrusts. He leans over me and slips a hand up my shirt to cup my breast instead. He encounters my bra but is unfazed, quickly tugging it, hard. The straps bite into my skin before it tears off my body. The utter destruction of my clothes is inhuman. His hand feels as cold and hard as metal as it caresses my breast. “Not ‘till I’m finished,” he mutters squeezing my breast gently.

Suddenly a shockwave of fear courses through me as I realize that pleasure is building in my core toward orgasm. There’s no way I can come for this man. He senses it too, because his hand drops from my breast to rub my clit. I flinch under his touch and he snaps at me.

“Don’t act like you aren’t enjoying this. You don’t want to admit how good it feels to have me inside you. I can feel you clenching around me… fuck.”

His hand moves temporarily from my clit to palm my lower abdomen. “There I am. I can feel my cock moving inside of you,” he says in wonder.

I thrust my hand downward to claw at his palm on my abdomen. He simply laughs and shoves me harder into the counter with a powerful thrust. He’s nearing release too; I pray he cums before my orgasm takes hold. I couldn’t bear the humiliation of him knowing how much pleasure he’s bringing me.

He begins to speed up his thrust sloppily and we both realize in a split second that it’s race to make the other finish first. He wants to humiliate me by forcing me to orgasm, and I’m desperately hoping he finds release before I can. Heavy grunts and moans fly from his lips, melding with the soft whimpers that escape my lips unintentionally. I clench my jaw and think of everything, anything except for the man thrusting himself inside me to hold off my orgasm. I stare at the pattern of the wall and color of the chairs, but my mind is so cloudy with a heady pleasure I can’t focus. He grabs the back of my neck and pulls his lips to my ear.

“Come,” he commands in a snarl.

“Fuck you,” I spit through gritted teeth.

He trails his tongue in a slick trail up my neck and sinks his teeth into my shoulder again. The pleasure teeters in my core and my fingers curl into fists with a dreadful anticipation. He senses this and thrusts deeply into me and it snaps to release shockwaves of pleasure in my core as I hit my orgasm. I curse under my breath and bite my lip until I draw blood to keep from crying out in a moan.

His chest rumbles in a pleasured groan against my back. “I told you,” he says hoarsely. “You love it. I can feel you coming around me.”

I can barely hear him through my powerful orgasm that blissfully pulses through me. My body shudders under his grip. I want to hate him, to be angry, but every emotion is washed away by the relaxation and pleasure that follows my high.

Hands tremble violently on my hips. He’s close. His fingernails dig into my skin in an effort to keep both of us still as his final thrusts become sloppy and staggering. If he cums in me, I fear I might vomit.

I’m stunned and slightly relieved when he pulls out with a grunt seconds before releasing himself onto my ass. A string of curse words leaves his mouth in a moan, mixed with pants of my name. I tense as I realize it’s the first time he’s used it since he walked through the doors. He knows me. He’s been planning this. And I never had a clue.

I can feel his cum drip down my damp skin. It’s more than I ever thought one man could hold; it’s warmth covers most of my ass.

His moans cease and he breathes heavily behind me. I lay with my eyes closed on the countertop when I feel his hands return to my bottom. They’re slow, gentle, spreading his cum over my cheeks and thighs. He collects some on his hands and slithers them up my stomach and to my breasts under my shirt, slathering them in the warm liquid. His hands are gentle on my hot skin, almost soothing.

Hands gently grasp my waist and turn me to face him. He lifts me slightly, effortlessly, so that I’m sitting on the counter. His pants are pulled back up, but he’s taken his jacket and hat off and his shirt clings to his body with sweat. Dark hair hangs in damp wisps in front of his eyes. His cheeks are as flushed as mine and his irises have returned to their original blue color. They rake down my worn body smeared in creamy white, even lifting up my shirt to admire my breasts. I refuse to meet his eyes.

“Ohhh, doll,” he exhales. “You look so beautiful covered in my cum.”

I turn my head away and a tear leaks from the corner of my eye. “No, don’t cry,” he murmurs, leaning in to lick it away. “C’mon, doll. I know it felt good.”

My voice is hoarse and low as I whisper a response.

“I hate you. You’re fucking insane.”

“Isn’t everyone?” he whispers, moving in to silence me with a kiss. I’m as still as a statue against him. Evidently it irks him, because he slips a hand up my shirt and pinches my nipple. When I gasp into his mouth he slips his tongue inside mine and deepens the kiss. His arms hold me tightly and stroke my back as if he truly cares about me.

I curl away from him when he parts from me. His eyes remained latched on me. “Please leave,” I plead him in a weak voice. My voice trembles slightly.

“Oh, baby doll, I can’t do that. I’m not done with you yet,” he murmurs. I finally release a sob that’s been lodged deep in my throat. “Please, please, just go. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Sh sh sh, it’s okay,” he quiets me softly. “I’ll keep you safe, don’t worry. You’ll be mine.”

“No,” I whimper as he moves forward to throw on his jacket and hat. I try to run from him, but he easily grabs my shirt and pulls me to his chest. That’s when the last of my adrenaline releases itself to my veins and I whip around and knee him in the groin- again. Somehow, he doesn’t see it coming and buckles in pain.

I sprint to the door, but it’s more of a stagger. My vision is blurry through tears. I’m close, so close… Locked. I jiggle the handle fruitlessly. It won’t budge.

“No, no, no no no,” I mutter to myself. I fall to the floor as tears pour down my face, curled into a ball and tugging on the door. “Please, please open...”

“What, you think I hadn’t thought of that?” a deep voice says from behind me. He’s recovered from my blow and stalks toward me almost sympathetically. “I really wish it hadn’t come to this,” he murmurs in my ear before I feel a stinging pain in my neck.

I scream hoarsely and push him away, but it’s too late- he’s already expelled whatever fluid was in the syringe he pierced me with into my veins. I claw at his chest as he holds me to himself. I feel weaker and weaker, my strength withering like an autumn leaf. My head finally falls against his chest and my eyes close. Purrs of praise rumble in his chest as he scoops me up. His lips press onto my forehead and my consciousness slips away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave kudos/comments if you enjoyed!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s not what people do. It’s why they do it.”
> 
> \- V. E. Schwab
> 
> —
> 
> Lots of non-con smut with details that will contribute to the approaching plot.

I sleep without dreams. Whatever sedative flows lazily through my veins keeps me under, hard. So when my unconscious brain finally registers a hazy light behind my eyelids, I grasp at it hard. _Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake-_

My eyes snap open with a sharp gasp from my lips. I glance about wildly in an unfamiliar room. Soft cotton sheets cradle my body. My naked body. I shiver, clutching the bedsheets around me, and observe the open space. I’m in a modern apartment bedroom much more luxurious than my own modest flat. A massive pane of glass makes up half of a wall to my left; the pale sunlight and gray clouds tell me it’s probably the early morning.

Suddenly the memories of last night- if it was last night- surge back into my brain painfully. Chills race down my spine as I remember a strange man bending me over the café counter, running his hands up and down my body, bringing me to orgasm…

I frantically look down at my exposed skin and rub my arms tentatively. They’re clear of any white liquid, but my skin crawls at the memory of its warmth covering me. Maybe it was all a nightmare. A realistic, painful, horribly pleasurable nightmare.

The room is empty except for me. I sit up in the large bed and note the simple furnishing. Maybe I’m in a hotel? My mind subconsciously spins a fantasy excuse for what could have happened in the last few hours: I fell in the café and hit my head, perhaps. Some kind soul found me and took me to a hotel to rest up and I had a fiendish nightmare of the man that plagued my thoughts for the last few weeks. Maybe, just maybe, I imagined it all.

The ache between my legs begs otherwise when I slip out of the bed, but I ignore it. Wrapping sheets around me, I tentatively step to the window. It’s a breathtaking view of the city. I’m still in Manhattan, so that’s reassuring. I study the buildings around me and attempt to pinpoint which one I’m in. It’s taller than most of the others. Almost as tall as the Stark Tower. Or the Avengers Tower, whatever it’s called these days.

Where is the tower anyway? I slowly pick out familiar buildings and notice they are all in close proximity to the Avengers Tower, but it itself cannot be found. I’m not… there’s no way…

I pause. If I’m in the Avenger’s Tower, maybe it was an Avenger that saved me. A hero that knocked out the man who raped and sedated me and took me here to recuperate. My stomach soars at the idea of Captain America or Iron Man defeating my attacker and gently taking my limp, broken body to a safe place.

Suddenly the sound of a toilet flushing from outside the closed door startles me. I turn and grip the sheets a little bit tighter around me, praying that it’s a burly, good-natured man who walks through the door and tells me that everything is going to be okay. The knob turns and I stare at it anxiously.

“Morning, doll.”

Instant repulsion races through my veins and tickles my spine with its hot little needles. This can’t be happening. He’s dressed in less sinister clothing and shaved. His hair is damp and clean, not limp and sweaty with disregard. But it’s the same person. It’s the man.

“Ge-get away from me,” I stammer, backing into the wall. My eyes dart about wildly for something, anything to use as a weapon, but the only thing I can see is a small lamp right next to him.

“Don’t be like that,” he smiles. He steps forward and the sheets are strangled in my grip. My knuckles are a bloodless white.

“Why am I here?” I demand angrily. “Did you break into this tower?”

He smirks. “You don’t remember? You gave me quite a struggle. I had to put you under so I wouldn’t get my face clawed off.” His fingertips snatch the hem of his shirt and he pulls it off over his head. My stomach pitches before I notice the angry red scratch marks that run down his incredibly sculpted chest, and a surge of pride shoots through me. Serves the bastard right.

I’m so busy staring at my fine work that it takes me a second to notice his arm. I gape at it unabashedly- it’s completely metal. The shiny material meets the flesh of his shoulder at a jagged pink scar.

Recognition floods through me. “You’re that assassin. I saw you on the news, fighting with Captain America.”

He nods. “Steve. I was still under the influence then.”

I lied through my teeth. I didn’t just see him on the news, I’d seen him before. In person. Now I know why the familiarity of his presence at the café had bothered me so much.

I had been taking a midday hike near the Potomac one weekend to clear my mind. It was before I moved to New York, to surround myself with people because I had no one. No family to speak of, so I packed my life with endless strangers. I remember noticing a huge flying ship crashing into a building as it sputtered like a fish out of water over the river. Enraptured, I’d witnessed its explosion and descent into the blue water.

I was still watching when a sound alerted me from the banks of the river. Squinting, I saw a man dressed in in soaking wet black drag Captain America himself out of the river. He had stayed only momentarily, as if waiting for a sign of life from the super soldier. When he was satisfied, he had trudged into the woods toward me. I remember stepping backward carefully, quietly, into the brush in an attempt to conceal myself from him. He’d seen me, though. Freezing suddenly, he had turned and stared at me shrinking away into the bushes. His eyes were as dark as his face that bore a haunted expression. We had gazed at each other for a long moment in the deafening silence before I turned and walked away quickly. His gaze was too penetrating and creepy, and I could feel it on my back as I quickly strode back home through the woods.

“Steve got through to me though, brought me here,” he continues. My knees nearly buckle. “He brought you here?”

Another smirk. “You’re in my apartment, doll.”

My heart sinks, but I put on a brave face. “Fucking mistake then. I can scream and any one of the Avengers will save me from you.”

“Not so lucky yet. It’s just me here for another month. Everyone’s out for a while on vacation, per say.” He stalks toward me. “I’ve got you all to myself.”

I swallow back bile that rises to my throat. “What’s your name? Why are you doing this to me?”

He ponders the question for a moment. “I… James. And because I have to.”

I close my eyes and press my clammy hands against the cool glass. Maybe if I hit it hard enough…

He moves forward and panic rushes through me. I turn and slam my fist against the glass with a screech. Over and over again I throw my knuckles into it to no avail.

“Stop that,” a voice growls behind me. James seizes my arms and pulls them behind my back. I begin to sob, a wretched, quiet sobbing into the glass as tears flow down my face.

“Don’t, don’t, stop, PLEASE!” He wraps his arms around me tightly and suckles on my neck with warm, hungry lips. The feeling of utter helplessness permeates my body again and I begin to feel a ball of hot anger grow in my stomach. How dare he take advantage of me, keep me here like a fucking slave!

The tears stop suddenly and I stiffen in his arms. He buries his face in my hair and inhales. “Such pretty hair, doll.”

I rack my brain for anything I can use against him. It seems stupid to anger him now, but I want him to feel as exposed as I am. I suddenly remember a late night news report on the assassin’s battle with Captain America. They had mentioned his rumored past identity as an American soldier and friend of Steve Rogers, James Barnes, before being captured by an organization called Hydra. There was a nickname… Ben? Bruce?

_Bucky._

“Did old Steve Rogers take kindly to his pal Bucky becoming Hydra’s fucking puppet?” I spit the words angrily.

He freezes behind me before speaking in a deadly voice. “ _What did you say?”_

I slowly remember more bits of the news report that detailed much of the mysterious persona surrounding the Winter Soldier.

“Did you tell him about the time you shot Kennedy? I wonder how he would feel f he knew his best friend was the rotten piece of shit that destabilized the nation, huh?”

His flesh hand shoots up from my stomach to my throat and applies light pressure. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Can you still hear their screams? All the people you killed?” I’m just hypothesizing now, but it seems to have a bad effect on him. Good. 

With a growl he throws me unceremoniously onto the bed. I scramble backward onto the cushions with a satisfied smirk. “Seems I’ve hit a nerve.”

He mounts the bed, which dips slightly under his weight. “You’ll regret that.”

I surprise both of us when I slap him across the face with a sickening _crack_. He’s not expecting it and his head snaps to the side with the ferocity of my palm.

His tongue probes his inner cheek as he turns back to face me. His eyes are a deadly black. With a metal hand he snatches my covers away, exposing my naked body. He leans in when I attempt to cover myself and sinks his teeth into my shoulder. I wince in pain but refuse to let him hear me scream.

His knees spread over each side of my hips as he straddles me. I grit my teeth and claw at him wildly, determined not to go down without a fight. I land a few good scratch marks on his hard chest before he captures my wrists and shoves them above me. The room is void of voices, just heavy breathing and grunts of exertion as we battle each other.

His lips dip to my nipple and suck hard and painfully. It’s  not supposed to be pleasurable- it’s a punishment. I drive my knees hard into the small of his back and grimace as he abuses my breasts. Teeth emerge and deliver stinging nips to the skin. _Damn, that hurts._

A hand slips from my wrists to wrap around my knee and wraps my calf around the back of his thighs. I can feel him rub himself onto my crotch. Grunts of pleasure vibrate his lips on my breasts as he grows harder and harder against me. Suddenly he snaps up and snatches a switchblade from his pocket. Flicking out the blade, he holds the point inches from my throat.

“Don’t fucking move,” he orders. I glare at him as he slips off the bed and tears off his joggers and tosses them to the floor. There aren’t any boxers beneath, and I avert my eyes from his crotch. He rejoins me on the bed and I roll over onto my stomach, burying my face in the pillows.

He places his hands on my ass and squeezes. “What do you think you’re doing sweetheart?”

I close my eyes in the cushions, awaiting the inevitable. “If you’re going to rape me again, I’d rather not have to stare at your ugly face.” My voice is muffled, conveniently making my voice sound more annoyed than fearful as I feel.

He chuckles darkly and grips my hips before flipping me over and straddling me again. “Beggars can’t be choosers, doll.” I avoid his eyes as he dips his lips to my ear and murmurs in a husky voice.

“Besides, can you really call it rape if you came so hard for me last time?”

I ignore the humiliating remark. “Yeah, pretty much. I meant to ask, did you take me because no one else would have sex with a murderer?”

This comment draws another sinister snicker, but I notice him tense a bit. “Bold of you to assume I’ve left that part of me behind, doll.” He raises his head to look me in the eyes. “You want a taste of how bad I can be?”

“I don’t think you can be. I think you’re a pussy. Hydra was the only thing bad about you, when they made you their slave.”

His eyes widen. The pupils are blown, but more with a psychotic wildness than lust. “You’re really asking for it, aren’t you? Do you want me that bad?”

I spit in his face. James growls and drops two fingers to my pussy to test the waters. His assault on my breasts served its purpose- of course I’m fucking wet again. I don’t even care at this point. I just want it to be over.

A hand wraps around my leg again and hitches it up over the small of his back. He strokes himself once before pushing into me roughly. I bite my tongue to keep from crying out. He releases a pent-up groan from his lips as he slides himself all the way into me.

His chest rubs against mine and he wraps an arm around me to keep me steady. His thrusts are rough and punishing. I close my eyes and try to tune out the world. I can feel his hot lips descend on mine and kiss me hard. When I don’t move my lips, fingers close around my throat.

“Kiss me back, or I’ll knock you out and fuck your unconscious body.”

I slightly doubt him, but the thought scares me nonetheless. I reluctantly allow myself to kiss him back when he brings his lips to mine again. He hums in pleasure against my mouth as our lips meld together hotly.

He finally parts from me and gazes at my face as he snaps his hips harder against mine, likes he’s gauging my reaction. It’s rough, but I would be lying to myself if I said it didn’t feel good at all. The way his hips rub against my clit and cock brushes a spot inside me fills my core with undeniable pleasure. A moan escapes my lips against my will.

He smiles. “Don’t you worry, doll, I’d never really do that to you. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to hear all those pretty little noises you make for me.”

I’ve tried my hardest to resist the pleasure, but it comes anyway. I close my eyes and subconsciously allow myself to imagine it’s someone else inside me. Someone, anyone other than the man holding me down right now. My mind drifts and I picture Steve Rogers’ pretty face above me, moaning my name with flushed cheeks and unruly blond hair…

“Fuck,” I moan quietly to myself. The image sends a flash of heat to my core. It feels so damn good.

“I know you recognize me.”

The hoarse confession in my ear snaps me out of my reverie. I open my eyes to find James’ inches from mine. His fingernails dig into my back as he continues a rhythm of thrusts inside me, his lips opening in pleasure every few seconds. “You saw me at the Potomac.”

I flinch at the unsettling memory. He continues mercilessly with both his lips and his dick. “You thought about me for a while after, huh? You- _fuck_ \- imagined the man from the river sometimes, late at night? Pretending it was his fingers when you… _shit_ … when you slipped a hand down those pretty little panties?”

Goosebumps erupt on my hot skin. It’s like he knows my every thought. My cheeks redden in shame. I had thought about him, for weeks after my unfortunate hike. Had he been thinking about me too?

“Looks like you got what you wanted.”

Anger flares through me. “I don’t want this, you piece of shit.”

“Let’s see about that.” He speeds up his thrusts and drops a few fingers to my clit. I groan inwardly as I try to fend off my orgasm. James moans and pants with exertion.

His skin is hot and damp with sweat. I can feel his rock-hard abdomen rubbing against my stomach and breasts. Fingertips abuse my clit blissfully as he continues to hit a spot within me that nearly makes me scream. Teeth nibble at my neck harshly. I’m aware of every sensation as I’m filled with a bubble of pleasure that threatens to burst.

James is close too. He touches me with fervor as his pace becomes sloppy and heated. He hisses a string of curses into my skin and his body trembles on top of mine. His hair tickles my skin irritatingly.

Suddenly I can feel myself barely teeter on the brink of orgasm before pleasure crashes through me. I cuss aloud with ecstasy and anger. “ _Fuck_.”

James doesn’t seem to register my cries. His eyes are hooded and he leans back on his shins, grabbing my hips and forcing them upward to plunge even deeper inside me. I barely notice, still hazy from my pulsing orgasm. A hand wraps around my throat again, and I open my eyes weakly to see him gazing at me with a hunger and lust like I’ve never seen before.

He falls forward, clutching me to his chest as his metal hand supports us on the bed. I’m completely off the mattress and relying fully on his strength to keep my secure. My foggy brain allows me to wrap my hands around his neck to keep myself steady. A few more staggering thrusts and he stills inside me, spilling himself deep within my body.

We fall onto the bed hard as he swears quietly with his orgasm. My head clears and I weakly scramble away from him. 

Laying on the other side of the bed, I cover myself with a pillow and cringe at our mixed fluids seeping out between my legs. James rolls over, panting, and the blue eyes have returned. I stare at him blankly, feeling nothing.

He pats the space next to him. “Come here.” I ignore him. He props himself up on an elbow. “Here. Now.”

“Shut the fuck up, please,” I groan, pushing myself off the bed. The snarky response is risky, but I don’t think whatever he can throw at me as punishment I can’t handle.

I can hear James put his joggers back on behind the bed. His footsteps stalk toward me, probably to punish me for my disobedience. My legs tremble as I snatch his shirt from the floor and put it on to cover myself. I walk to the door quickly and try the knob. Locked. Of course.

“Hey Buck, you in there?”

The voice sounds from outside the door. My eyes widen and I hear Bucky cuss quietly behind me. I lose no time slamming on the door with my fists and screaming.

“PLEASE HELP ME! PLEASE! HE’S RAP-“

I’m cut off when Bucky snatches me and covers my mouth with his hand. I writhe in his grip and snap at his hand with my teeth, but it’s that of cold metal. He drags me to the bed and places me in his lap, linking his ankles over my legs to keep me secured.

“Bucky? Who was that?”

James stares ahead warily. “Nothing, Steve.” His voice is hoarse and he clears his throat. “I’m cool. Just hanging out. The TV’s a little loud.”

Captain America is behind that door! My brain screams in happiness- finally, someone who will save me! I almost relax in James’ stifling grip with relief. Could I finally be free?

“You don’t have a TV, Buck. Are you okay? Are you having a relapse?” James swears and tightens his grip around me. “Steve, I’m fine.”

Steve sounds concerned. “I’m gonna come in, okay?” I nearly pass out from happiness. Bucky freezes and we both watch the knob turn.

“I could have sworn I heard a- _oof_.”

Taking advantage of James’ surprise, I burst from his grip and sprint into Steve’s arms. He nearly falls over but steadies the both of us at the last second. “Wha-?”

“Please help me! He’s raping me! He raped me and drugged me and abducted me- please help me!”

Steve stares at me with a look of confusion that morphs into one of shock and horror. He holds me tenderly and turns to James. “Buck?”

James stares back at him darkly. His eyes are remorseless. Steve looks between me and his friend before gazing at me with a hint of confusion. His baby blue eyes glitter as I search his face pleadingly.

“Please,” I breathe.

A finger softly brushes away a piece of hair that’s slipped in front of my eyes.

“She’s prettier than you described,” Steve remarks. He smiles at me.

James breaks into a matching smirk. “I know. Beautiful little thing isn’t she?”

Confusion fills me before turning into a sickeningly cold dread.

_This isn’t happening._

Steve steps into the room and closes the door behind him. I gently attempt to ease myself from his grip, but it only grows tighter. Finally I stop being gentle and twist my body hard, bringing my knee up in an attempt to target his groin. Before I can make contact, he whips me around rapidly and slams my back to a wall. His hand cups my neck to keep me from a concussion, and now brings my face close to his.

“Don’t,” he hisses, bringing his lips a hair from mine. “…try that shit with me.”

My eyes dart wildly to James behind me who wears a satisfied smirk. “You’re supposed to be the good guy,” I whimper like a child to Steve.

He smiles sympathetically. “Judging from your sounds in here a few minutes ago, I think Bucky’s a pretty good guy too.”

I snarl and shove him away from me. He laughs and grabs me back. His fingers lace on my stomach and he presses his front against my backside. James smiles and stands to cup my face and kiss me softly. It’s almost tender, unlike the rough, lusty kisses he’s given me before.

Pressed between these two men, I’ve never more wanted the floor to open and swallow me up. But judging from what I can feel between my legs, apparently my body’s never wanted them more. Fantastic.

James parts from my lips and fingers the end of his fabric hanging off my body. Steve lifts his arms slightly so his friend can slip his hands up my shirt. The man behind me inhales the scent on my hair as the one in front of me feels up my breasts with his lips on mine. And that’s when I decide I’ve had enough.

I relax slightly in Steve’s grip and he loosens his hold on me. I take a deep breath and, bracing myself against Steve’s body, kick both my legs up in a powerful thrust into James’ chest. He’s busy kissing me and stumbles backward in surprise. I take advantage of Steve’s loose arms and slip to the floor before snatching the floor lamp and scrambling over to the window.

Breathing heavily, I tear off the lampshade and slam the iron pole against the glass again and again. The lightbulb shatters around my feet. Small cries escape my lips with effort, but to no avail. The glass hardly flinches under my assault. I muster all my strength into a swing and finally see miniscule cracks begin to form.

My body floods with adrenaline and relief, but it’s too late. The super soldiers have recovered and Steve tackles me to the ground. I finally stop struggling, sweat dripping down my back.

“You okay, Buck?” Steve calls, flipping me over gently and glaring at me.

“I’m fine. Is she okay?” James responds.

“Like you give a shit,” I spit angrily.

“Oh no, baby,” he says, walking over and brushing Steve off me. “I don’t especially care about you. This body on the other hand…” he trails a finger down my leg. “This is special.”

The words shouldn’t hurt me, but they do. He really doesn’t care about me? He went to all this trouble just for my body? I bite my lip and shake myself out of the self-induced pity. I don’t care about that, nor him. My sole focus is escaping this place.

He scoops me up and places me on the bed, where I shrink away from him. “I’m gonna need a little help,” I hear him murmur to Steve. He whispers something to the blonde, who nods before brushing his fingers along the edge of his shirt. “Mind if I take it off? I have a feeling it might get a little sticky in here.” He winks at me and I look away.

“Go ahead.” Steve peels off his shirt to reveal a sculpted body already damp with sweat. I avoid staring at him and instead study my toes, attempting to ignore the hot flash of arousal that shoots to my core. Any other girl in Manhattan would be drooling over a chance with the two men, but considering the circumstances, I’m less than excited.

Bucky slips into the bed and pushes me down, trapping me underneath him as he kisses me heatedly. He uses his strength to flip me on top of him and grips my hips tightly until I straddle him. He leans backward on the cushions with a small smirk curving his lips. Steve is suddenly in bed behind me, his hands on either side of my waist. “Mind if I take this for you?” he asks, sliding the fabric of James’ shirt up a few inches.

“I’d really rather you not,” I respond in an icy voice. He laughs lightly and takes it off over my head anyway, leaving me completely naked. He brushes my hair to the side and trails his lips down my neck and shoulders, still gripping my waist firmly. If his job was to distract me, it worked because I didn’t even notice James shimmy his joggers down to his thighs. I turn to see his erection flat against the hard abs and flinch. I attempt to wriggle away, but Steve’s arms hold me in place.

“You’ve been a little difficult, so I’m gonna help you ride Buck, okay?” Steve murmurs in a soft voice before tenderly nuzzling my neck with his nose. I press my palms back against his abs gingerly. “No, please no. I won’t try to escape again, I swear. I-I’ll be good.” I cringe inwardly at the childish plea but it fails nonetheless.

Steve’s large hands hold me gently but securely, and don’t let go. He lifts me up slightly and as James simultaneously raises his length. Steve wraps one arm around my waist and dips a few fingers to check me. I flinch as his fingers probe me gently, as if he’s just a doctor doing a routine checkup. “She’s all yours,” he says to James.

I barely feel his tip at my entrance before Steve plunges me down onto him fully. We both release a groan as he’s sheathed completely within me. Steve begins to rock my body up and down onto James’ cock gently. I place my hands on the backs of my ankles and squeeze, hard, as Steve bounces me slowly, rhythmically. James leans forward to caress my breasts almost lovingly. With Steve in the room, he seems a significantly less cruel and demanding. Maybe his friend’s presence comforts him, maybe he just doesn’t want to show that side of himself. Either way, I’m almost grateful for the relaxed pace.

Steve isn’t immune to the two people fucking in front of him; I can feel him straining through his joggers against the small of my back. He rubs himself slightly against me and I hear his breathing intensify. I actually hope James is possessive enough that I don’t have satisfy Steve as well after this little session.

I close my eyes and allow my head to tilt back in pleasure. The lack of a forced harshness makes this the most pleasurable experience I’ve had thus far. James is so deep inside me; I can feel him twitching with excitement. He watches my face, his hands fondling my breasts as he does so. Suddenly he thrusts his hips upward, his hands dropping to my own hips, and I fall forward with my palms on his chest. Steve’s warm hands still guide me on James, but I’m not in much position to struggle.

James looks past me at Steve, who suddenly rises and slips off the bed. “I’m gonna go… take care of something,” he mutters quickly. Evidently he means his own raging arousal, because he bolts from the room urgently.

James smiles at me and tightens his grip on my hips. Soon he begins thrusting up into me deeply, keeping me steady on his cock as he quickens the pace. I can feel my orgasm begin to build and shove my hands down on his chest in an attempt to slow him down. He flashes me a devious smirk and forces himself against me, but I stand firm. Somehow, I’m actually managing to lessen his pace, and hope fills me when I realize I could possibly hold off my orgasm. The idea of not satisfying him with my pleasure would be a victory.

I can notice him become irritated with my actions, and a heady boldness fills my mind. Without much thought, I lean down and wrap both hands around his throat. I want him to know how it feels to be nothing, to be hurt.

My thumbs dig into his neck as I lean down inches from his face and watch it morph into one of anger and surprise. In a moment of daring, I lean forward and drag my lips opened across his chin as if to tease him. I want him to feel exposed and helpless.

James’ blue eyes turn dark. His hands slip to my waist and dig in deeply that I nearly groan in pain at his biting fingernails. With one swift, fluid motion, he flips us over and brings me underneath him yet again.

“I try to let you have some control, doll. I try to let you enjoy it, and you fight me.” His stubble scratches my ear as he murmurs. “I think you liked it better when I forced you.”

I instantly regret choking him. It’s brought a deadly change in his demeanor, like he’s desperate to keep control over me. He wraps both of my legs around him and thrusts into me deeply and hard. I shudder with the change of pace and twinge of pain that arrives with it. His rhythm is inhumanly rapid and moans fly from my lips. His teeth drag down my jawline and clavicle before biting on my shoulder. I can nearly taste the ache of the marks I’ll have tomorrow.

Suddenly he snatches my thigh and pushes it upward so it’s hooked over his shoulder, pushing himself so deep inside me I can feel him brush my cervix. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull at his hair to force his lips from my skin. We gaze at each other for a second before he leans in and kisses me harshly. Not wanting to endure any more pain, I kiss him back. This seems to please him, and he calms a little.

It’s only seconds after that we both find release. My mind goes numb with bliss that pulses through my core, and I can feel him falter deep inside me with a groan as he cums. He lays on top of me for a few moments, his lips trail down my neck and chest in hot, open mouthed kisses. We’re both sweaty and panting with exertion. I weakly shove him off me and roll over.

I find the discarded shirt and throw it over my body, where it clings to my damp skin. We’re silent for a moment, until it’s broken by a soft, deep moan from behind the bedroom wall. That must be Steve finishing himself off in the bathroom. The walls are thinner than I realize, and I can hear mounting groans until he finally quiets. I can almost see him spilling white liquid all over his hands and am secretly relieved it wasn’t on- or in- my body.

My stomach growls and I realize it’s been at least a day since I’ve eaten. Or used the bathroom, my bladder suddenly reminds me. James hears it too and speaks up behind me. “Hungry?”

“That depends. Are you going to give me real food or ram your dick down my throat?” I reply spitefully. I suddenly shiver in regret and really hope he doesn’t choose the latter- I’m famished.

He gives my ass a quick squeeze. “Tempting.” He’s not one for talking much after sex. _Rape_ , I mentally correct myself. I’ve quickly learned to tune myself out of the situation while it’s happening, but I can’t forget what brought me here. Him. My rapist. Raping me.

I can hear him pull up his joggers and slide off the bed. Steve tentatively pokes his head into the room, first observing my body curled on the bed and then James heading for the door. His cheeks are flushed and James laughs. “Jesus, Cap, we could hear you from in here.” He smiles sheepishly and glances at me, but I simply stare at the wall above him.

“I’m gonna make some food. Show her to the bathroom for me?” James’ eyes drop to my hips as he speaks. “Might want to clean yourself up.” His condescending tone makes me want to rip his stupid metal arm off and beat him to death with it.

Steve nods and James rounds on me suddenly. Pouncing on the bed, he brings his lips an inch from mine. “Be a good girl for Steve, okay?” he murmurs, his breath hot on my mouth. When I attempt to avoid his eyes a hand comes up and grabs my jaw, roughly shifting my face toward his.

I growl and surge at him to grasp his neck tightly, pressing my thumbs into his throat. He effortlessly tears my arms away and pins them down as he leans in close. “It’s okay, doll. No need to pretend you don’t like it anymore.”

Vulgar words leave my lips as I struggle and curse against him, but he just laughs and shoves me away before exiting. I right myself and look at Steve stonily. To my surprise, he seems almost off-put, as if he’s unfamiliar to James’ demeanor toward me.

I ponder this as I follow him to the bathroom. James was significantly less brutal when he was with Steve. My mind screams objections. _He helped that man rape you!_

I swallow and ignore them. Survival and escape are my only goals now. And if the captain has any doubts about his friend’s true behavior, he may be my only ally and my only way out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We do a very good job at fixing broken bodies, but not such a good job at healing broken minds.”
> 
> \- Michael McCaul
> 
> —
> 
> A bit of smut, a lot of plot.

Steve insists on keeping the door open as I use the bathroom, which normally would make me intensely uncomfortable but somehow doesn’t. Some sort of instinctual survival mode has kicked into my brain, and trivial details like these don’t faze me anymore. I would almost be proud of myself if I weren’t in such a hopeless situation. Trapped in an empty tower with two superhuman men the odds are stacked against me, but I’m proud of the courage and strength I’ve discovered in myself whilst handling it. If only courage and strength could get me out of here.

I finish using the bathroom and call to Steve while I wash my hands. “Concerned I’ll kill myself if you allow me alone in here, Captain?”

He strides over casually from the other room and leans in the doorframe. “Maybe. You never know.”

I gaze at him through the mirror. “Then you know I have good reason if I wanted to.”

For a moment a look of guilt flashes across his face like a gust of wind. It dissipates quickly, however, and he sets his jaw. “There’s more soap under the sink if you want to wash your face. You can shower after we eat.”

I whip around quickly, preying on that split-second of guilt on his features and address the elephant in the room. “Why are you letting him do this to me?” I demand.

His eyes glance up remorsefully for a second before flitting away. A pregnant silence follows. A small inkling of a notion comes to me suddenly, and I act on it, testing him.

I lean forward slightly and slip my hands up Steve’s shirt, taking him by surprise. His eyes widen as I trail up the skin of his chiseled stomach. “What about you, Cap? Did you want to get a piece of this too?”

My voice is low and sultry and I lean forward that my lips just graze his sharp jaw. I run my hands over his stomach and creep up to his chest. He scrunches his eyes closed and his fingertips fly to my wrists, effectively stopping my movement. That’s all I needed.I snatch my hands back and his shirt flutters as it settles on his chest again. He opens his eyes visibly confused and flustered.

“So you don’t want me like he does,” I confirm aloud more to myself than Steve as I wash my hands yet again. Touching him like that was repulsive.

“I- he- what?”

I turn and glower at him. “If you won’t tell me why he brought me here, I’ll have to find out for myself. Obviously, you’re not in on the _rape_ …” I notice him cringe at the word, ”…because if you were anything like him you would have bent me over the sink the second I touched you. You just got off on it.”

He blinks at my bluntness and flushes. “I let myself get carried away. It won’t happen again,” he mutters.

I round on him before continuing. “So why are you so okay with letting him do it? Why did you help him?”

Steve exhales, caught in his guilt. He peeks out the door before shutting it behind him and looking at me gravely. “You don’t understand what you’re dealing with. What I’m dealing with.”

“Considering the circumstances, I think I have every right to.”

His face is dark, like he’s seen things he’s rather not repeat. He stares at the mirror as he speaks.

“I got James back, but I never got Bucky back. He came back from Hydra... changed. Darker.” He shakes his head. “He would have these episodes. Sometimes they were flashbacks, sometimes he slipped back into the Winter Soldier persona. One time he came back from a workout speaking Russian and pulled a knife on me.”

Steve finally meets my eyes. He searches me for a reaction but I stare back at him emotionless.

“He started therapy, but it only went so far. We tried every tactic in the book. Only one seems to stick with him even a little bit.”

I finally speak up. “Which is?”

Steve’s voice is deadpan and he refuses to meet my eyes, instead staring into the sink. “Taking control.”

My stomach pitches. So that’s the deal with control. James’ wild, angry reaction to my fighting back by attempting to choke him rattled his nerves and he snapped. I almost shiver remembering the deadly look he gave me when I wrapped my fingers around his throat. He’d flipped me over so fast not just to punish me, but because he desperately had to stay in control. He had relaxed with Steve because he knew there was no way I could fend off the both of them. With full control over the situation- both me and Steve- James had finally eased up.

Somehow the understanding only makes me angrier. “So you’re okay with this? With him abducting and raping me? Just because he needs to have _control_?!”

“I didn’t know what he was going to do. I knew about you, but I didn’t know what he was going to do with you,” Steve admits.

“That doesn’t fucking help!” I raise my voice and Steve shushes me. I continue in a heated whisper and can feel hot tears pricking in the corners of my eyes. “He’s raping me, Steve! He-“ I pause and swallow back the lump in my throat. “He _hurt_ me.”

Steve pushes off the sink and turns to me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that he took you, and I’m sorry about what I did back there.” He speaks with finality, as if he’s done with the conversation.

My eyes widen in anger. “Oh you’re _sorry_?! Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it when he’s raping me and keeping me against my will!”

Steve just stares at me somberly. The melancholy look on his face fills me with rage- what does _he_ have to be sad about? _I’m_ the one suffering. I want to slap it off him. So I do.

His face snaps to the right with the ferocity of my palm. My hand stings, but I hope his face stings more.

Rubbing his reddened cheekbone, he looks me in the eye. “I can tell you more later. But we should go.”

“Go back so you can watch your old pal force himself on me again?” I spit, backing away from him.

Steve’s jaw sets and he strides forward, gripping my biceps with impossibly large hands. His face is dark and threatening unlike I’ve ever seen before.

“I said I’m sorry. But I think you’re underestimating the care I have for Bucky. And I’ve stopped caring about what’s getting between us and caring only about what gets me closer to him. And right now, that’s you.” His voice is a deadly quiet murmur.

He releases me from his grip and gives me a final look.

“I’m going to do whatever I need to do to get my friend back.”

 

 

Steve and I make our way to the kitchen in silence. He must have felt bad because he allowed me a few minutes to rinse off in the shower, but he ended up having to nearly drag me out as I vehemently attempt to scrub every inch of my skin clean of James. His calls for me to hurry up and get out had become louder and louder as I ignored him and watched the bubbles glide across my skin. Eventually he yanked open the glass door to the shower, holding a towel up and facing away to protect my modesty. I almost laughed at the pointless gesture. He had no problem stripping me before.

I allowed him to wrap the towel around my shoulders. He hesitated when he saw my skin tinged with a raw pink from scrubbing so hard. Without a word he pulled a bottle of gentle lotion from under the sink and left it on the counter. It soothed my tender skin.

I dressed in one of Steve’s plain cotton long-sleeves that dips to my mid-thigh, which is covered by a pair of his plaid boxers. Apparently James expected me to wear his clothes, but I had refused. I would rather look like Steve Rogers’ one-night stand than have James’ scent lingering on my skin.

His eyes narrow when we enter the kitchen. “She’s wearing your clothes,” he remarks to Steve, as if expecting an explanation.

I answer for him. “You’re delusional if you think I’m wearing anything of yours,” I snap before taking a seat at the island. The corners of his lips curve up and he turns to grab some toast. I don’t meet his eyes as he sets a plate laden with steaming food and fresh fruit in front of me. I almost consider refusing it, but it smells so good and my stomach growls hungrily. I compromise by eating painstakingly slowly as if I hate it. I can’t pretend that he isn’t a great cook though- it’s delicious.

Steve eats quickly and heads to the gym. James takes the opportunity to sit next to me. Blue eyes glance over the bruises his lips drew to the surface of my neck and collarbone. I ignore him and continue eating my food.

“I’ll pick up some clothes for you tomorrow,” he says. “If there’s anything else you want-”

I slam my fork down on the countertop with an angry _clink_. “You’re really planning on keeping me here?”

“Calm down,” he says quietly.  
My chair screeches on the floor as I spring out of it. “Don’t tell me what to do, you, you _monster_ …”

In a flash he’s in front of me gripping my biceps tightly. “Calm down. Don’t make me punish you.”

I stare up at him disbelievingly. Even in his delusional, predatory state he’s still… beautiful. I can’t help but notice the wisps of his hair that tickle his face, his strikingly blue eyes, or the way his full lips glisten from the water he’s been sipping.

I relax in his hold. “I- I have a job. I have… friends, family. People will be looking for me.”

His eyes almost pity me. “I know you don’t have any family, maybe a few distant cousins out west. You’ve been on your own for a while. And I know you just moved here recently. You keep to yourself. I’m not sure there’s any ‘friends’ to speak of.”

His words hit me hard. “What about my job?” I ask, but it’s more of a plea for him to acknowledge that I have something, anything that might bring people looking for me.

“It’s been taken care of. You’re with me, now. No one’s looking for you.”

I can feel my face fall. The control over my emotions pleases him and he leans to kiss my forehead. “It’s okay, doll. I’ve got you.”

Repulsion flares through me at his words and I push him away, but he holds me firm. A sob finally escapes my throat and I release the emotions that have been pent up inside me for so long. “Why won’t you just let me go?” I whimper.

I want to fight against him, insult him, but the heavy gloom that sits in my stomach like a rock drains me of my energy. Tears blur my vision and I push weakly on his chest.

Two large hands slip to my bottom and hoist me onto the counter, where I sit as he envelops me in an embrace. I finally allow myself to cry openly into his chest. I don’t know if it’s because of what he’s done to me, because there’s no one looking for me, or because I have nothing, no one. I simply release months of stress and sadness and anger into him.

James’ arms wrap tightly around me and he buries his lips in my hair. He’s hard and muscled but his embrace is soft. Any other moment and I would have screamed and shoved him away, but in this moment of vulnerability nothing matters to me now. All that matters is that someone is holding me and keeping me safe. It’s so strange: minutes ago he was violent and controlling, but now he seems tranquil, as if what he did to me put him at peace. I can only hope it lasts.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. James seems to be satisfied with my compliance, because he doesn’t force himself on me. I spend most of the day on the couch watching the TV and resting up, my mind far from the program blaring in front of me. My fantasies of escape have not left me, but I allow them to rest for a day while I wallow. It’s pitiful, really, but it’s keeping me safe from James, I think while _Friends_ plays out on the screen. Suddenly, a rude thought interrupts my reverie.

  
_Do_ _you_ _really_ want _to_ _be_ _kept_ _safe?_

I blink in surprise. Against my will, I’m overcome with all the memories of coming, hard and blissfully, around his intense pace. The sweet pleasure that filled my body, his moaning face above me. I shift on the couch and swallow at the heat that’s growing between my legs. _This_ _isn’t_ _right_.

I banish the thoughts from my head and spend the evening exploring what of the tower I can. I’m limited to a single floor and some doors are locked, but I still find a gym, a few spare bedrooms, a theatre, and multiple other rooms. Steve glances at me through the glass of the gym walls, panting and covered in sweat. He’s been going at it for hours. I wonder if it’s guilt eating away at him that’s keeping him locked in the gym, pummeling punching bags like there’s no tomorrow. His eyes fall to his feet when I gaze at him, expressionless.

James and I don’t speak about our current situation, except when I ask him which of the guest rooms I’ll be spending the night in. That draws a dark look from his face. “You’ll be sleeping with me,” he states firmly. I don’t argue.

Other than that, he strangely seems to enjoy talking to me. Sometimes he’ll come up to me and ask how I’m doing, then furrow his brows as if confused why he did. He’ll join me on the couch and lay my head on his shoulder much to my chagrin, and murmur words to me that drift over my head. I’m not sure if he’s talking to himself or me, but he enjoys it. So much of him is throwing me off, but again I’m almost thankful for the tranquility that follows his assault on my body. 

He insists on me sleeping in just one of his shirts, which I initially refuse but soon give in to when I see the look on his face. It’s big, but I yank it down as far as I can to cover myself. He wraps an arm around me as soon as I slip into bed and pulls me close. My eyes are pink and weary from quiet tears that have approached me periodically through the day. I fall asleep quickly to the gentle noise of his breathing that blows rhythmically on my neck.

James sleeps fitfully, if at all. I often awake to him moaning in anguish or rolling about and twitching vigorously. His body is cool, but his skin glistens with a light sheen of sweat. Sometimes his eyes snap open and he wakes suddenly with a heaving gasp. That’s when he grabs me and holds me tightly to myself, afraid to let go dare I slip through his arms like a ghost.

This continues for a few nights of poor sleep for the both of us. Finally I begin spending the hours before sleep exhausting myself in the gym so that I can sleep through James’ fits. I’ve never been so dedicated to working out before; any fat on my body melts away with my intense desperation for a good night’s sleep. Often, I’ll catch James staring at me through the gym windows. 

Days pass without any violence or real complaint from me. James is controlling but doting, even if his actions seem to confuse himself as much as me. It’s like he’s not sure how to treat me. He’s almost affectionate sometimes, but then will grow stiff and confused and draw away. Other times he merely seems to accept it and bask in the comfort of my body draped over his and my ear open to his words. He’ll stroke or twirl my hair with a finger absentmindedly sometimes, sending goodsebumps down my neck. But it’s not violent or angry, and I soon become accustomed to this new, almost peaceful man. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. One night, a few days later, I awake with a gasp to his hands snatching my wrists firmly. He’s on all fours above me, hair damp with sweat and eyes wild.

“I need you,” he rasps, just above a whisper.

My mind reels as I try to remember what Steve said about James’ obsession with control. “You already have me James. I’m yours. You have me.”

The words don’t seem to soothe him, and he doesn’t ease his grip. A small coil of fear forms in my belly- he hasn’t approached me sexually in days. Allowing him to hold me or kiss me whenever he likes seems to keep him somewhat calm. He repeats himself. “I need you.”

He pins both of my wrists above me with one hand and tugs my shirt up with the other. “Wait!” I yelp, panicked. “I-I’m not, I’m not ready.”

His brows furrow in confusion before he understands. Neither of us wants the discomfort that accompanies dry sex.

He studies me for a moment before pulling back and dropping his hands to my waist.

“I’ll make you ready.”

My breath catches as lays on his stomach in front of me and pulls my hips toward his face. His warm breath hits my pussy and I snap my legs shut in surprise. James easily pushes them back open and loops his arms under my thighs, his fingertips nestling into the soft indentation where my legs meet my torso.

I feel his breath on me again, exhaling deeply on my sensitive skin. Overgrown stubble brushes my inner thighs and I instinctively arch my back in pleasure. His hands hold me down firmly as his tongue licks a warm, wet stripe up my folds. The teasingly slow pace soon quickens until he’s devouring me with a mess of sweet licking and sucking with a skilled tongue. I can feel my anger and reluctance melt away like an ice cube sliding over hot skin- it just feels too good.

My lips are swollen from biting to keep from crying out, and sheets are balled tightly in my fists. James is enjoying it too; I can hear him humming in pleasure against my heat.

Suddenly plump lips latch onto my clit and my hips buck hard toward him as if with a mind of their own. My mind is foggy with the sweet pleasure his lips and tongue are bringing me. The vibrations of his growl reverberate to my clit as he pulls me roughly by the hips closer to him. Moans finally escape my lips as I let go of my remaining resistance and melt into him. I can feel pleasure begin to build in my core and chase my orgasm desperately.

James face appears suddenly from between my legs and I nearly whimper from the loss of contact. His lips glisten with my arousal and he breathes heavily. The blackness of his pupils has swallowed the icy irises. His hands remain on my hips, but he tilts his head slightly as if expecting something, gazing at me with hooded eyes.

I meet his eyes bitterly as I slowly comprehend the look he’s giving me: he’s making me _choose_ to want him. I almost consider kicking him in the shoulder and scrambling away but feel the buildup of pleasure in my core begin to slip. My hazy, lust-filled mind hisses at me. “It’s going to _happen_ anyway, _enjoy_ it...”

With a moment’s hesitation, I lean forward with a mumbled “fuck you” and rake my fingers through the back of his hair before urgently pulling him back between my legs. I see him smirk before delving back into my pussy eagerly. The pleasure soon returns, and I tug on his long hair roughly. It’s so hard to resist when it feels so damn _good_ …

I finally hit my orgasm and bite down on my lip hard while my sweaty back arches off the mattress. My mind teems with self-rebuke. How could I have just done that? When I became familiar with the affectionate, calm man James had become in the last few days, could I have really opened myself up to choosing to allow him to pleasure me? The thoughts bob like corks in the murky ocean of my sleepy and pleasured brain before sinking away. 

James quickly maneuvers himself on top of me and kisses my lips harshly. It’s desperate and rough, as if he’s searching for something I’m not giving him. Suddenly he pushes himself upward and stares at me with wild eyes. They’re hungry and almost feral. The pupils are blown, but this isn’t lust. This is desperation.

A hand threads through my hair and yanks it backward, and I wince. The fingers of his metal arm trail gently along my collarbone. “Beg me not to.”

“What?” I ask tiredly, still foggy from my orgasm. The slow trailing stops and he wraps a cold hand around the base of my neck. His vice is dangerously low. “ _Beg_ _me_ _not_ _to_.”

I’m so confused- just seconds ago he was letting me choose to continue with him, now he wants me to plead with him to stop. It’s like he’s snapped from one person to another in a split second. I tried to give him complete control, but obviously whatever I did wasn’t enough.

“Do it!” he snaps. I swallow beneath his hand. “Please…”

“More. Tell me you don’t want me. Swear at me, hit me, I don’t give a damn.”

My confusion must be evident in my expression, because he scowls and brings his lips close to my face. “Remember when I bent you over the counter that first time and fucked you even when you screamed at me to stop? When I pounded into you with my dick and made you come so hard? Remember when I covered you with my cum when I was all finished?”

The sharp memories of that night return to me in a flash. I’d buried them so deeply as a survival instinct, to not dwell on the past so I can focus on surviving my captivity. They’re jagged and piecey, but all too painful. Repulsion and anger flare through me and I stiffen underneath him. He wants this. He’s trying to make me angry. I don’t want to give him what he wants, but the memories are close to making me vomit. I’m done complying. And I’m done with whatever mind games he thinks he’s playing: switching between villain and hero at a whim. Hours ago he was kissing my hair as we watched a movie together, now he’s reminding me of how he raped me?

“Why are you doing this? Really?” I choke out, twisting my head to break free from his grasp on my neck. He relents and I gulp down air. He stares at me.

“Tell me.” I attempt to copy the deadliness of his demanding tone. It comes off sterner than I expected.

His brows furrow in confusion for a split second before his face goes blank. His grip goes limp, and I scramble back onto the cushions and pull my t-shirt down. It’s like someone poured a bucket of water over a canvas with wet paint, the way his face instantly loses all expression. My heart nearly thunders out of my chest. In a near whisper I address him tentatively.

“James?”

He doesn’t respond but remains staring at the sheets in front of us. He’s naked save for a pair of boxers and the plates of his metal arm resettle with a soft creaking noise. His chest heaves.  
I rack my brain for anything he might respond to. Suddenly the sensitive memory of him leaning over my shoulder, his breath hot on my ear, his body pressing me against the counter of the café. I had asked him who he was in an effort to delay the inevitable. He had responded in a perfect Russian accent.

“ _Soldat?_ ”

His head snaps up with hooded eyes. I flinch, but he doesn’t grab me. “я готов отвечать: _ya_ _gotov_ _otvechat_ '.”

The gravelly Russian inflection is unlike his normal voice, as if he’s a different person.The language is lost on me, so I swallow and ask again, making sure to make my voice as stern and demanding as before. “English.”

The language is different, but the gravelly tone remains. “Ready to comply.”

My breath catches in my throat. Whether he knows it or not, the man kneeling in front of me is the cold-blooded assassin that’s responsible for dozens of deaths and could snap my neck in seconds. I try not to show my fear, but my rapid heartbeat threatens to betray me.

“Rest,” I say in a hushed tone. He obediently begins to lay himself on the bed before shaking his head in confusion. I back away.

“What the-?” he groans in confusion and runs a hand through his hair before peering at me. His eyes widen. “Now what’s a lovely dame like you doing here in my bed? I must have had quite the moxie to invite you back after a dance, huh?”

I stare at him in confusion. His voice is warm and charismatic, unlike I’ve heard before. “James?”

He breaks into a grin. “Call me Bucky, doll.”

I gape at him and he runs his hand through his hair yet again. “Yikes. Seems my hair isn’t so keen, huh?” He chuckles a bit and leans in toward me.

“Whaddaya say we... get back to whatever it was we were doin’, huh doll? I leave for the war pretty soon, think you could help send me off?” The comment should be lewd, but in his voice it sounds loving and sincere. It makes me almost want to melt into his lips, but I stop myself.

“I-I have to go,” I stammer and rise from the bed.

“Oh no, no, no, doll. I’m sorry if I gave you the creeps. We can have a swell time without that, if you want,” he apologizes concernedly.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I open the door and nearly slam right into Steve’s broad chest. He looks down at me confusedly. “I heard some noise and was coming to check up on you guys…”

“What the hell is going on?!” I whisper, holding back tears. Behind me, James’ voice pipes up. “Is that Stevie I hear?”

Steve looks at me questioningly before James comes up behind me. “Jeepers, Stevie! What in God’s name happened to you? Where’s my scrawny little buddy?”

Steve pales and blinks quickly, and I notice his eyes filling with tears. He wipes them hurriedly and looks to me for explanation.

“It gets worse,” I say softly before turning back to a bewildered James. I grab his arm and bark one word. “ _Soldat_!” 

Immediately his face takes on the blank expression again as he looks to me for direction. “ _Ya_ _gotov_ _otvechat_ '”

“Sleep,” I command. This time he obediently goes to the bed and lays down before falling asleep.   
Steve is as white as a ghost. For a second I fear he’ll slam the door shut in my face and lock it, but he opens it and steps to the side.

“I think you should sleep with me tonight.”

 

 

Both of us lay on either side of Steve’s bed, staring at the walls. Neither of us can sleep much, but after an hour or so I hear Steve’s breathing slip into that slow, relaxed rhythm.

Sleep evades me for another hour of boredom. My thoughts drift to James in his room. He’s alone in there- what if he wakes up as the Winter Soldier and panics when I’m not there? What if he acts out and sees me as an enemy?

My mind works itself up into and anxious frenzy and I finally slip quietly out of the bed. Tiptoeing to the door, I glance at Steve. He’s fast asleep.

I pad down the hallway and take a deep breath before gently pressing open the door to James’ room. I exhale in relief to find him still sleeping peacefully.   
He looks so calm like this, not haunted or wild like he does during the day. I know nightmares plague him, but his face is still soft and tranquil.

I lean against the doorframe and something catches my eye. A small corner peeks out from beneath his mattress, like that of a book or journal. I approach the bed tentatively and tug out the corner, still staring at James to make sure I don’t wake him. It’s a hardcover book- _Madness_ _Explained_ : _Psychosis_ _and_ _the_ _Human_ _Nature_ by Richard P. Bentall. A printed painting of Van Gogh stares back at me, irritated, from the cover.

I flip through a couple of pages to find endless scribbled annotations jammed in the margins. They’re hard to read, but some pages are covered in the repetition of three messy words, scrawled all over the paper in black ink. _Who_ _am_ _I_ , _who_ _am_ _I_ , _who_ _am_ _I_ , _whoamiwhoamiwhoami..._

I snap the book shut quickly, nearly forgetting about the sleeping figure in front of me. He doesn’t stir. The writing inside the book gives me chills- it’s like looking inside his brain.

I quietly make my way around the bed and lift up the mattress just barely to see if there’s anything else hiding under there. The gentle light of the hallway softly illuminates the contents beneath the mattress and I gasp audibly. This is nothing I could have been expecting.

The frame of the bed beneath the mattress is lined with at least 15 books wedged against each other, accompanied by a few weathered journals and a thick Manila folders packed with papers. Titles of the books fly at me in a jumble of large printed letters and official-sounding authors.

 _Assessing_ _Psychosis_.

 _Cognitive_ _Therapy_ _for_ _Delusions_ , _Voices_ , _and_ _Paranoia_.

 _Treating_ _Self_ - _Destructive_ _Behavior_ _in_ _Trauma_ _Survivors_.

I swallow thickly and snatch a Manila folder. But my hands are trembling too much, and it falls open in my lap. Dozens of photos, glossy prints and paper cutouts alike, spill onto my lap. A small whimper of fear escapes my lips.

It’s me.

Endless photos of me slip all over my lap, photos no one should have. Me working at the café, me about the city, in stores and parks and sidewalks. Then the creepy photos- me at my apartment, pictured in the window.

My hand flies to my mouth to withhold a scream when I see photos of my silhouette in the shower and my sleeping form curled up in bed. These photos aren’t grainy like the others, but clear and free of zoom features. He was in my apartment when he took these.

I can’t look anymore. I scramble to shove the photos back in their folder and slip a few near the edge of the mattress to retrieve later and show Steve. He couldn’t have known about this level of obsession.

I duck low to shove the Manila deep under the mattress before placing it gently back down. I nearly forgetting about James’ presence in the room. I peer up to glance at his sleeping form under the sheets, but they’re empty and thrown back.

Then, from behind me-

“What’re you doing there, _doll_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ve got a plot! This story will probably extend to about 5 chapters with more updates on the way. Thank you all for all the love! Your kudos and comments mean more than you know :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Not every puzzle is intended to be solved. Some are in place to test your limits. Others are, in fact, not puzzles at all.”
> 
> -Vera Nazarian
> 
> —
> 
> Some smut, mainly plot.

I snap away from the mattress. James is standing tall and looming behind me, a silhouette against the dim moonlight that drips through the window. “Nothing,” I breathe quickly.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he replies, closing any remaining space between us with a step forward. I can feel my fingertips brush the sheets behind me as I back up slightly. A flesh hand suddenly catches my chest just above my breasts and shoves me backward onto the bed. “Seems like you were snooping where you shouldn’t be.”

I scramble backward on the mattress racking my brain for anything to appease him but coming up blank. The words are playful, as if he’s talking to a misbehaving child, but the deadly edge to them is unmistakable. An arm jolts out to the left and yanks open a drawer of the nightstand beside the bed. His eyes never leave mine as he rummages around before coming up with a wickedly sharp object. The blade of a long combat knife catches the moonlight as he twists it in his hand for an eternal second before lurching forward and holding the point to my throat.

I gasp and arch my neck back to avoid the razor-sharp tip of the knife. He’s on all fours over me now, one hand pinning mine down with the other grazes the cool metal over my delicate skin. My breath comes in short gasps. Adrenaline thins my blood. Sure, he’s forced himself on me before, but never anything like this. I’ve never feared for my life.

“I think… you need to learn a lesson,” he murmurs in a voice dangerously low. His knees gently tap my calves to the side, spreading my legs so he can position himself in between them.

“Stop, stop, stop, please,” I gasp in short erratic breaths. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again!”

I shut up when the tip of the blade traces lightly over the curve of my lips. “First you need to learn to shut that pretty little mouth of yours.”

I swallow thickly as the cool side of the metal presses against my lips in a shushing motion before being lifted. It traces down my heaving chest languidly, with only a millimeter of fabric protecting my skin from spilling blood. “Or maybe… I should punish you in some other way, given you seem to enjoy it so much.”

James lays the knife precariously between my covered breasts, where it rests in the crook of my chest. If I look down far enough, I can see the tip grinning back at me evilly. A finger slithers down my damp navel before dropping to cup my pussy. He grinds the palm of his hand into my clit, his eyes gauging my reaction. I bite down on my cheek and stare at the ceiling behind his head, swallowing back any whimpers or gasps that threaten to escape my lips. The taste of iron fills my mouth and triggers me to flinch underneath him. Does he even remember what happened merely hours ago? The image of him switching personas right in front of me is burned into my brain forever, but he acts like it didn’t happen.

Suddenly a thought hits me like a brick. What if this is one of those personas? What if this sexually dominant James is just one more of these identities locked away in his brain? This personality, with its violent outbursts and insatiable appetite for control could be the one taking control of this man’s body and broken mind. The room is warm, but a shiver shudders my body. Have I even met the real James Barnes yet? The Bucky Steve claims to know and love?

I buck his hands off me vehemently. “Stop! This isn’t you! Y-You don’t know what you’re doing.” His hand hovers for a second before flattening onto the knife on my chest and sliding it toward my throat menacingly.

“I think I know exactly what I’m doing.”

My free hand flies to his wrist on the knife and holds him back pleadingly. His eyes darken above me, and I notice the familiar, deadpan appearance. I’m not sure if it’s due to lust or apathy, but an idea worms itself into my brain and I snatch at it desperately.

“ _Soldat?”_

The blue eyes return in confusion. “What did you say?” James mutters between gritted teeth.

“ _Soldat?_ Soldier? You responded to it yesterday.” My words are hurried and panicked as they tumble from my lips. “You began, y-you began speaking Russian, and when I told you to do stuff you just did. Like sleep.”

His brows furrow darkly above me, and I feel his hand tighten around my wrist. I continue, not able to stop myself. “A-And then you changed again. Called me ‘doll’ , then a dame, and talked about going off to some war. You were surprised to see Steve. Y-You called him scrawny, like you hadn’t seen him before.” Sudden pressure digs into my breastbone, and I can feel the handle of the knife pressing into my skin. Slowly, I slide myself out from under the knife and backwards onto the cushions. Eyes fixed on the bed in front of him, he doesn’t follow me and I am freed for a moment from his grip.

“And this- this isn’t you either. This is someone else. But you knew that, right?” His eyes snap up to lock on mine, and they’re wild, wide and animalistic like a cornered wolf. It’s a haunted stare, and I gulp before continuing. “The books? Under the mattress? You knew something was wrong.”

“THIS ISN’T WRONG!” he suddenly lashes out, lurching forward to lock a hand around my throat. The knife drops to the ground. My heart nearly pounds out of my chest as his voice drops to a low whisper. “This is me.”

“It’s not,” I choke out against his grip. “You know that. Bucky knew that. You’re not Bucky. You’re- you’re insane.” He releases me with a shove and I rub my neck, coughing. 

James rises off the bed and looms next to me. He buries his face in his hands and groans loudly, as if in severe pain. Suddenly his head snaps up to look as me, and his eyes are a soft blue, softer than I’ve ever seen them. His face is soft too, free of anger and malice, merely a bit perplexed. It’s almost comforting. Almost.

“Wha… who…?” he stutters stumbling toward me confusedly. “Are you hurt?”

I shrink away from him on the bed, but he collapses onto his knees before he can reach me. His hands pull at his hair and he shakes his head frantically. “No, no, no, STOP!”

The cries begin quietly but amount to a bellowing that makes me cringe. His voice dips from high to low to feral growling, murmuring and screaming unintelligibly. I can nearly see the battle being waged in his broken mind. Fragments of his psyche are all vying for attention, tearing the real Bucky Barnes to pieces. The crumpled form in front of me is void of identity and shaking in fear.  It’s one of the most terrifying things I have ever witnessed in my life, and I know it, too, will be burned in my brain forever.

Then, all at once, he stills.

All that I can hear in the dim room is my own heavy breathing and the fierce beating of my heart that threatens to burst through my chest. Slowly, his head rises out of his arms to face me. It’s tearstained and flushed. His eyes match his pink skin, but his face is emotionless. A single finger beckons me once toward him. The look on his face is so haggard and dangerous that I comply. It’s better to submit now then suffer another snap. I don’t know if I could handle seeing that again.

Steve is either off the floor or lied about ever caring for me or Bucky, because there’s no way the screaming didn’t reach his ears. Once I reach the edge of the bed, James speaks tersely. “On your knees. Now.”

A sickened feeling rolls my stomach, but I obey and kneel in front of him. We both know what he wants. Tears blur my vision as my shaking fingertips struggle to get a grip on the knot of his joggers. I don’t know if I can go through this again.

The delay seems to anger him. “No, no, no,” he mutters to himself. I meet his dark eyes confusedly. My foggy, scarred brain just wants sleep and an escape from this psychological hell, and I have a hard time comprehending his demeanor.

“You have too much control,” he mutters. Large hands grip my biceps and shove me roughly onto the bed. When he leans over me again, I notice the haggard weariness in his eyes that matches my own. It’s like he’s tired, worn. It’s like he doesn’t want to do what he’s about to, but some unknown force is ordering him to. Ordering him to stay in control. Or maybe he just needs the release to calm down.

Almost gently, he tugs me to the center of the bed underneath him. I hardly notice the joggers come off, and the boxers after them. My long t-shirt is gingerly tugged over my head and tossed aside. No words are spoken, and the sound of our soft breathing is the only noise in the silent room. His warm, wet mouth drops to my neck and drags down to my collarbone as he buries his face in my skin almost like a lover. His hands caress my sides softly. I almost forget that I didn’t give consent, that I’m still his prisoner, by the way he touches me. It’s like he truly cares about me and about my pleasure.

Soft lips raise hickeys to my neck and breasts where he sucks hard, then licks gently to soothe the skin. His chest rubs hot and damp against mine. A joined moan fills the space between our lips when he pushes into me. When my back arches underneath him, he wraps a warm-skinned arm around it to hold me flush to his chest. The metal arm holds us steady on the bed as he begins a slow rhythm of rocking hips and soft kisses that ignites a smoldering pleasure within both of us. There’s no thinking or reasoning. Our minds are hazy and fragmented, our bodies the only part of us alive. A desperate craving for release is all that drives both me and James in this moment and keeps us locked together.

A hand slips from my back to trail up my thigh and wrap the leg around his waist and pushes him even deeper inside me. My fingers struggle to grip his damp shoulders and I wrap my arms around his neck to keep me steady. The long brown locks are moist and hot by the nape of his neck. Soon we both near release, and the pace quickens until I can feel heat burning in my core. When it snaps, I nearly convulse with the waves of pure bliss that shudder my body. James trembles above me with eyes closed and soft whimpers from pink and swollen lips. I can vaguely feel him spill inside me, but instead of flaring repulsion, my pleasured body only enjoys the warmth he brings to my core.

He pulls himself out gently but remains on top of me. Dark blue eyes rake over my body glistening with sex-sheen. The tip of his pink tongue runs over his lips as if he just finished a meal. Even after I’ve been ravished like this, I still manage to study him with some perplexity. This still must be the James that took me, but he’s struggling to hold on. For a split second, I saw the true Bucky Barnes. He was confused and worried about me. James is losing control over himself and over me. He took me gently, sensually, rather than forced and aggressive. He’s losing himself. And I can’t help but wonder- should I hope for Bucky Barnes to emerge from this broken man, or should I fear the consequences if James finally snaps and loses himself completely?

Moments pass in a tranquil silence before the door suddenly bursts open, spilling light into the dim room. James turns to face who I figure must be Steve. He pauses slightly before speaking. “We have a mission.”

“Are you serious?” James responds hoarsely. “We can’t go.”

“It’s an emergency. Biological warfare being transported today by a hostile terrorist group, and I can’t stop them alone. It’s dangerous. We have to go. There’s no other option.”

James slips his joggers back on and runs a hand through his hair. “I can’t leave her.”

“It won’t be more than two days, Buck. We have to go. Be on the Quinjet in 45.” James hands me my shirt from its place on the floor and I tug it over myself as he stalks to the bathroom in a resentful silence. Steve looks at me once before moving to close the door.

“Wait!” I protest in a weak voice, scrambling to hold it open. “You can’t do this. He’s dangerous.”

Steve hesitates in the doorway. “What do you mean?”

“It’s James. Bucky. He’s not right. I found a lot of books and he had a meltdown in front of me.” Steve’s brows furrow over dark eyes. “Steve… I-I think he’s in some kind of psychotic break.”

The baby blues widen before blinking quickly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” The condescending words flare up anger inside of me. If only he knew the things I’d seen.

“I’m not fucking around Steve! He fucking lost his shit in here minutes ago! He was screaming and acting like there were 3 people inside of him clawing their way out.” I notice the captain’s jaw clench and stop myself.

“This isn’t Bucky. But I think I saw Bucky come out. He was gentle and… quiet, and caring and I knew it was him. If you put him in another combat situation…” I pause to swallow thickly. “I don’t know if you’ll ever get him back. He could snap, lash out. He could be a danger to you.”

Steve glances toward the bathroom door, then back to me. “We’ll handle it when we get back, but you’re wrong in thinking he’d hurt me. Bucky wouldn’t.”

He moves to close the door, but I wedge my hand in the way. Adrenaline and anger clear my head and fuel the words I spit at him tersely.

“Fine. But if you saw what I saw, you’d be more than a little concerned. You’re fucking delusional if you think any man in his right mind has to kidnap a woman and keep her as some sort of desperation therapy. This isn’t normal, and you know it.” I release my hand slightly from the door, but he waits upon my next words.

“I know you want to believe you have your friend back, but you’re lying to yourself if that’s a man you’d trust with your life.”

Footsteps approach the bathroom door and Steve nods once, to himself as much as me, and ducks out of the doorway. I close it and slip back onto the bed fiddling with the hem of my shirt. James emerges from the bathroom and heads for a closet, drawing out a pair of black cargo pants and a matching army jacket.

“It’s impossible to escape,” he says, facing away from me as he dresses. “And if by some way you do, I’ll find you.”

The words are meant to be a warning, but almost sound more like a plea. Once dressed, he pulls his hair back into a small ponytail. Wisps and small pieces of dark brown hair shroud his icy eyes and frame his face as he glances at me before reentering the bathroom. He returns with a glass of water and takes a place sitting on the bed next to me. He looks sinister in full combat gear. His bionic arm morphs from a limb to a weapon when protruding from the starkly black jacket.

The bed dips under his weight. “Here,” he says softly, holding the small of my back while tilting the glass up to my lips. That’s James- wild, violent, and controlling with periods of tranquility and softness. When he’s sexually and mentally satisfied, the anger and twistedness melts away. He’s still controlling- I can’t drink on my own- but in a caring manner. The teetering instability between violent lust and gentle control scares me, but I can’t help but to admit that I feel safe at times like these. Secure, even. Loved? Perhaps not, but the protectiveness he shows over me is reassuring. If only he wasn’t the one holding me here.

I gulp down the cool water and he rubs my back soothingly. The glass emits a small clink when he places it upon the nightstand and faces me. I avoid his eyes, but a few fingers gently tilt my chin to face him.

“You can’t leave,” he whispers. It sounds like he’s reassuring himself. Strange, but I nod obediently. I’m in no mood to argue.

James’ eyes won’t leave my face and his remains on my face, the other resting on my waist. I inhale sharply when he suddenly breaks the pregnant silence between us by lurching forward to wrap his arms tightly around my body. Involuntarily, I stiffen under his embrace. His damp lips brush my collarbone as he speaks. It’s below a whisper and trails off like the ocean receding from the shore. “Please don’t leave me.”

Arms tighten around me as he swiftly pulls me to straddle his lap. When I look down, his eyes are open and shining staring back at me. “I need you.”

I stare back at him blankly. Even in his calm moments he’s never given up control like this. “Don’t leave.” I blink and nod once, which seems to satisfy him.

Large hands run up my body once more in a transfixed sort of way, before he releases me, stands, and clears his throat. “There’s food in the fridge. I’ll leave a comm earpiece on the counter, just turn it on and you’ll be connected to me and Steve if there’s an emergency. We’ll be back soon.” He grabs a pair of combat boots from near the door and gives me one last look up and down. With a curt nod, he leaves the room.

I watch the lights of the Quinjet soar from the Avengers Tower as it becomes a speck in the sky before being swallowed up in the deep blue sky. The silence is so strange. I’m alone for the first time in days. I stand still for a moment, pondering my next move, when a flood of options hits me at once. For the first time in days, I am _free_.

I spend nearly thirty minutes in the shower using every soap and shampoo I can find to scrub myself clean, as clean as I was before I was taken from the café nights ago. I emerge dewy-skinned and smelling of clean-cut flowers and fresh fruits and absolutely nothing like James. I took the liberty to pour the remaining shampoo he used down the drain, holding my nose from the spicy scent as it swirled away in a pool of water and foam. I tossed the bottle into the trash on my way out of the bathroom.

A small shopping bag sits unopened in one of James’ drawers, filled with clothes Steve had bought for me. I haven’t had the chance to wear many of them because of how much James insisted on my wearing his clothes.

I find a pair of joggers and t-shirt that fit me, much to my relief. I hated the feeling of being small or drowning in James and Steve’s clothes. Snatching the old t-shirt of James’ I had worn to sleep, I make my way to the kitchen. The fridge and pantries are stocked with food, but I find what I’m looking for quickly- cooking oil.

Without missing a beat, I slap a pan onto the stove and drop my sex-worn shirt in it. With one hand, I douse it generously with the oil while the other rummages for a lighter in the mess drawer. I settle for a box of matches and scrape a match off the box to produce a sizzling flame, which I promptly drop onto the oil-soaked shirt. Heat flares up in my face as a fire bursts and consumes the shirt in the pan.  I can almost see the mounting flames reflected in my dark eyes and smile at the uncomfortable heat. It feels good.

After some rummaging around I scrounge up an early breakfast. The clock mounted on the wall reads 5 AM, and I settle in a nook near the a window to watch thin rays of sun creep up the horizon. I don’t have to constantly look over my shoulder paranoid that James will be standing behind me, and for the first time in many days, I’ve achieved some kind of peace.

I pick at the remaining fruit on my plate as the sun blazes through Manhattan. It creeps up skyscrapers and makes them appear to be swallowed by the orange light rising up their facades. The slow trickle of pedestrians and traffic increases to a steady flow. I remember that I would be getting up at this time if I took a morning shift at the café. I would be a small speck in the ocean of pedestrians that floods the sidewalks, hurrying down the street with my backpack hanging off one shoulder and bagel held between my teeth. I can almost see myself in my uniform speed walking down the street, but the image dissipates quickly.

A pang of sadness resonates in my stomach when I think about my old life. It wasn’t much, but I was happy enough. Now I don’t even know how to feel. I pop a blueberry in my mouth and ponder the last few days. There had been a few days of sexless peace after I initially woke up in the Tower, probably as a result of the full fledged assault he waged on me that same morning. Taking me alone, then with Steve, then finishing alone again extended the tranquil periods post-sex that were the only good part of James’ controlling demeanor.

Then there was last night, when he woke up desperate to take me but got interrupted by a chilling transition between James, the Winter Soldier, and what I assume to be Bucky Barnes of the 40’s. And after I returned to the room and was caught snooping, a few staggered moments as the true Bucky Barnes struggling behind a broken identity.

Of course this is mostly me hypothesizing, but I can’t help but feel that the endless psychology books and James’ wild meltdown in front of me proves me more than correct. Which leads me to the squirming thought nestled in the back of my brain that I’ve been ignoring for hours: if the true Bucky Barnes returns- the one who was caring and worried and gentle- can I even hold him accountable for what James has done to me?

 _Of course you can!_ my subconscious screeches at me. _He raped you and kidnapped you!_

“But it wasn’t him,” I murmur aloud to myself. Disgust floods my body and I cringe. How can I even think about forgiving him after all he’s put me through? I hate the feeling and am repulsed by myself and forget the thought. These are my precious hours of peace, and I won’t ruin them thinking about James.

I spend the rest of the day catching up on sleep, working out (Thinking of James’ face as the punching bag is a fantastic motivator. Steve works too.), watching TV, and searching endlessly for ways to access the Internet or a phone line. After finding every possible electronic to be disabled from wireless and not a phone in sight, I lose some motivation. I didn’t expect him to leave any possible way for me to leave, and he obviously didn’t expect me to leave any stone unturned. For a moment I consider plastering “HELP” in paint or something backwards on a window, but remember staring at them sometimes from the café. They’re tinted nearly black, and I’d rather not the super soldiers return and see my embarrassing, messy failure of an escape plan.

I head to bed early without stepping foot in James’ room. For a moment I’m confused at the lack of warmth the couch I chose to sleep on provides me. Then I remember the heavy warmth James’ body pressed against mine every night provided. Angry at myself for thinking of him, I grab a blanket and fall asleep.

A day passes, then another, with no sign of James or Steve. I can hardly believe my good luck. One morning while looking for coffee mugs I found a wine pantry, and now I sit cross legged and damp on the floor after an intense evening workout drowning my emotions in a bottle of rosé. Unfortunately, it doesn’t serve its purpose and I’m left curled up next to a window and thinking about James. Or Bucky. Or both.

Prompted by the alcohol swimming lazily in my blood, I walk back to James’ room and stand in the threshold for a few wary moments. Besides fetching my bag of clothes to keep near the couch, I haven’t stepped foot inside it since the super soldiers left. Maybe out of spite, maybe out of fear, but always with a stubbornness that did not relent. Until now.

I set my half-empty bottle on the hardwood of the hallway and enter the room to kneel by the mattress, swaying only once on my way down. Ignoring the manila folders I know I’d rather not look at again, I grab a few of the psychological help books and sit on the floor against the mattress. I flip through a couple pages of each book. The margins of all of them are darkened with endless notes and scribbles in messy handwriting. Some legible ink circles certain paragraphs and makes notes next to them, other ink consists simply of quickly scribbled abstractions.

“ _Who am I”_ repeated over and over in tiny margins and large blank spaces _._

 _“James Buchanan Barnes, James Buchanan barnes, jamesbuchananbarnes, james james jamesjames”,_ getting messier and messier with each subsequent _james._

Steve’s name looping over and over itself.

A sequence of numbers that was probably some sort of military ID.

Lists of the same random words stacked upon each other like freshly washed plates in a cabinet: longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace. Nine, benign, homecoming, one, freight car. Always in the same order, always progressing from strong swoops of ink penned by a steady hand before crumpling to weak, shaky lines smeared and petering off. It’s like he was trying to write each one with strength, but couldn’t manage legible handwriting all the way up to “freight car”.

Then there’s my name. It appears late in the books, like he learned it more recently. In the earlier pages of each I see light sketches of a woman I now realize are myself, the me he knew before he knew my name. They’re carefully done, and I recognize myself from the hike at the Potomac, when I first saw him. I somehow make a shocked look appear beautiful as I stand frozen in front of him, all light strokes and careful lines. There’s me at the café with an apron, what I presume is my hand holding a cup of coffee out to a customer. Then, my naked, sleeping body in James’ bed. My modesty is protected by the skillfully sketched sheets that conceal some of my body from view. I’m stunning really- a beautiful shape, locks of hair falling perfectly onto the pillow, my face an ocean of serenity. Light from the window highlights my hair and body. I wonder if this is how he sees me.

My internal voice is weakened by the alcohol and I find my resolve breaking. Dropping the books, I bury my face in my hands as if it’s possible to hide my own eyes from the tears leaking from them.

I can’t do it. I can’t hate him.

What I saw, if I saw the true Bucky, is a man horrified and confused by his actions. If by chance Bucky returns from the mission- not James- I don’t know what I’ll do. I’m almost as broken as he is now, just wedging the painful and violent memories back further and further until I’ll eventually choke on them.

Keeping myself occupied saves me from falling into a black hole of pain and anger and sadness and confusion when I confront the memories. And not only because everything he did to me was against my will, but that at some points, he was right. He did make me feel good, better than I ever had before. Even when he took me hard and fast he was careful not to seriously hurt me. My body tingles when I remember him waking up and descending between my legs to make what was to come easier and more pleasurable for the both of us. Maybe I’m contorting memories to seem less painful, but I can’t deny the absolute bliss I felt every time he brought me to orgasm as I clutched onto his damp, muscled body.

As much as I beg myself to feel some kind of real anger, right now, I can’t. All I can remember is his strong arms wrapped around me, the way his blue eyes changed color, the kisses he insisted on sharing with me. As much as I’ll resent James for what he’s done to me, I come to the realization that if the kind-hearted, innocent Bucky returns from the mission, some part of me might still want him. I might be tempted to experience that hard, beautiful body with a real person.

I can hardly believe myself. “What did he do to you?” I whisper to myself, slightly slurred.

When the wine finally pulls my eyelids down low with the sun outside, I forget my stubbornness of sleeping on the couch and creep up to the bed above me I shared with James. For the first time, I allow myself to miss the warm body that would sleep next to mine each night, and the warmer embrace that wrapped around my torso, the heat seeping into my body. Drunk with alcohol and emotion, I drift off into a troubled sleep.

 

 

Soft shuffling echoes in the back of my consciousness. My sleepy brain ignores it until a gentle weight bends the mattress beneath it. A gentle warmth creeps up my wrist, and even in my wine-induced haze a warning bell goes off. Opening my heavy eyelids, I eventually focus on a dark figure sitting on my bed, holding my wrist. A muscled figure with long hair.

The haziness dissolves immediately and I gasp audibly. The hand pulls back as if it has been burned. “No-“

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” a hoarse voice interrupts me. The absence of light renders the face a featureless blob of darkness, but I can see the pain etched on it as if he’s standing in the sunlight.

“I know what I did is unforgivable. I’ll never hurt you again. But please, please just hold me.”

The voice trails off into a broken whimper. “Please hold me.”

I hear the soft thud of combat boots being kicked off onto the floor, and the figure slides in between my legs, his head resting on my chest. In mere moments I can feel the warm wetness of fresh tears seep through my shirt and onto my skin. Hands, one warm and one cold, grip my waist. Wisps of hair tickle my chin. In my muddled brain, all I can do is welcome the warmth. I lay my hands on the back of the broken man laying on me, soothing both of us. My words slur together sleepily, tumbling from my lips before I can comprehend them.

“Iss ‘kay.”

A dry sob racks his body. “It’ll never be okay.” He shudders with a deep inhale.

“Nothing will ever be okay.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sometimes your heart needs more time to accept what your mind already knows.”
> 
> -Anonymous
> 
> —
> 
> Big plot details & fluff

    It’s the chill that wakes me this morning, rather than the sunlight streaming through the window. I vaguely remember falling asleep with an incredibly warm and comfortable mass laying on my stomach like a weighted blanket. Now I am alone, and the thin sheets provide less than enough heat to keep me holed up in bed.

I yawn and stretch, temporarily forgetting the events of last night before I spot two scuff marks on the thinly carpeted floor. It looks like someone trod through miles of muddy forest before unceremoniously kicking their shoes off onto the ground. I can almost hear the soft thuds of heavy soles tumbling onto the floor.

Then, in an instant, everything rushes back into my brain.

James returning to the room in the dead of night, laying against me with his warm body. And the apologizing. The wretched, guilty apologizing, with words brimming with remorse like thick syrup smothering his broken body and spilling from his lips and eyes. Begging me to hold him even when he admitted what he had done was unforgivable. The dry heaving of his chest when he whispered those miserable words into the darkness. _Nothing_ _will_ _ever_ _be_ _okay_. I can almost still smell the faint spice and earthiness of his scent lingering on the sheets.

I’m wide awake now. I push back the covers for any other evidence of Bucky’s presence from last night. Besides the faint scuff marks on the floor, there’s nothing, and for a second I wonder if it could have all been a dream. If it’s just a phantom aroma teasing my nose, the carpet playing tricks on my eyes. If I’m still alone in this godforsaken tower.

My toes brush onto the carpet and for a second my head reels and my vision goes black. I groan when I remember the bottle of wine I cracked open by myself last night. A growling hole burrows itself in my stomach, and I wonder if it’s of fear rather than hunger. Fear that what I saw last night was nothing more than an alcohol-induced illusion. Fear that some part of me still wants some part of Bucky Barnes.

In the bathroom I splash cool water onto my face and carefully guide a few handfuls into my dry mouth. It’s refreshing and helps quench the hot bundle of nerves burning up in my belly. I slip on some socks and, with some trepidation, pad down the hallway and into the kitchen. It’s sullenly empty and my heart drops. The clock reads 8:31 AM. Another morning by myself.

Suddenly a small cough travels through the silence to alert me to the small living area past the kitchen. My feet silent on the cold floor, I walk to where stone tile meets hardwood and peek over the cushions of the couch. The back of a mussed head of dirty blond hair greets me, facing toward the TV mounted on the wall, which plays some sports program on mute. Carefully, as to not scare him, I drag my feet slightly on the carpet to alert my presence as I approach the couch. The figure doesn’t move.

“…Steve?”

My attempt to not frighten the super soldier does not work. He flinches hard and inhales sharply, like I slapped him in the face. When I circle around the couch to sit across from him a flash of anxiety burns hot and worried through my gut.

His pretty face is sculpted now even more by the fresh gash running from his temple and under his cheekbone. His short blond hair is dark with dust and soot, matching the brown color of the unkept scruff that’s grown along his jaw and around his mouth. His plump bottom lip is blemished with an angry red cut, and one eye bears the purplish shadow of a bruise underneath it. And his eyes…. they’re red-rimmed and swollen from what I presume to be crying, and now glimmer like ponds under a blazing sun with withheld tears.

His jaw clenches and unclenches rapidly as he stares straight ahead and avoids me. I sit down in front of him on the coffee table and force him to look into my eyes. That’s when I realize why he was avoiding me so vehemently; as soon as his baby blue eyes meet mine, tears spill from them to no end. His face, however, remains stony and tight, and I’m reminded of when soft rainfall opens up onto the brassy statues of Central Park and drips down their unseeing faces.

“What happened?”

He manages a tight, unhappy smile.

“He’s back.”

His voice cracks on the last word and he shakes his head slightly, large hands wiping his eyes. “It’s Bucky.”

I furrow my brows in confusion at his evident distress, and he laughs once, sharply. “We, uh, we were fighting. The group was a lot bigger than our intelligence estimated and it got pretty heated. It was just the two of us, shooting and fighting of and endless swarm of criminals, side by side. I don’t know, maybe fighting next to me brought him back. It was… it was just like old times.” Steve clears his throat.

“We were fighting and I turned to ask him to cover my six and he just looked at me, with these crazy wide eyes. Like he just woke up from a dream or something. And then when we secured the bioagent, he sorta just kept staring, all wild and confused. He looked….” He shakes his head and looks at the floor. “Haunted. Like an animal.”

He swallows and stares hard at the ground, leaving us in a pregnant silence. Desperate to know more, I prod him on, ignoring my own throat that’s beginning to close. “And?”

“He didn’t say much of anything after that. Just kept looking around with these… eyes. It was like he was seeing everything for the first time. Once we, uh,” he clears his throat. “Once we were on the Quinjet he asked me. ‘What did I do?’ Just that. All deep and serious and sad, like he already knew but wanted me to convince him otherwise. I couldn’t tell him, but he knew. Then he just stared at that picture the entire way back here.”

“That picture?”

Steve’s head snaps up guiltily like he said something he shouldn’t have, but after some hesitation he shakes it as if it doesn’t matter anymore. “It’s a picture of you. He’s had it on him for a while now. Probably took it a few months ago. He carries it everywhere. Just pulls it out and looks at it sometimes, like we used to do in the old war.”

Just hours ago, the thought would have chilled me to the bone, but it hardly has an effect on me now. Instead I simply implore him to go one with an expectant gaze.

“When we arrived back here, he went straight to your room.” His eyes flick up to mine burning with intense guilt. “I-I would have told him not to do anything to you, but he didn’t look like he was going to. He didn’t-?”

“No,” I assure him. He relaxes some, relieved. I continue, “He, uh, apologized, actually. I was kind of out of it, but I remember him repeating ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again. He asked me to hold him while he fell asleep. He was gone when I woke up.” Steve nods once and the both of you stare at the floor in front of you in a pregnant silence for a few moments.

“I’m sorry too,” Steve said suddenly, his voice heavy. He straightens and forced himself to lock eyes with me. “I’m so sorry. I’ll never be able to make it up to you. I-I was so, so stupid. All I wanted was my friend back. I lost sight of everything else. Everything good, everything bad. I’ll never be able to forgive myself for what I let him do to you. And I never expect you to forgive me, either.”

I bite my lip hard. I can nearly feel the intense remorse and sadness radiating off the super soldier’s body and try to ignore it. Try, try to remember what he helped James do. But in this moment, all I can see is the broken man sitting in front of me.

“I let myself lose all control trying to make things like they were before he became the Winter Soldier. I let you get hurt. Not a moment goes by when I don’t regret what I did that first day you were here. And Bucky, well,” he laughs again, that sharp, humorless laugh. “He’s disgusted with me. He tried to hide it, but he remembers what I helped him do to you. At least he wasn’t in his right mind. But me, well, I was completely lucid. I chose to do that. I’ve never seen him look at me that way. He tried to hide it, but I saw. He hates me.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t,” I murmur softly.

He sighs, disbelieving. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do. It’s like I don’t even know who I am anymore.” A finger traces the cut on his cheek absentmindedly as he murmurs to himself. “Captain America. How can I call myself that? How can I act like a hero after what I made you go through?”

Another silence. “I don’t know if I can forgive you, yet” I say, wringing my hands together. “But I’m too preoccupied to be angry at you.” He sighs again, then nods and rubs his eyes.

“Where is Bucky now?” I ask.

“I don’t know. He vanished this morning. Probably on another floor or holed up in a closet somewhere.” I stand, and he glances up at me from the couch. “I don’t know if you’re gonna be able to find him. He’s gotten pretty good at vanishing if he doesn’t want to be found.” I simply nod and leave the disturbed soldier be, my mind teeming with his words.

For hours I look for Bucky throughout the extensive floor, but he’s nowhere to be found. Sometimes the hairs on the back of my neck prick up as if I’m being watched from afar. But just as suddenly as it comes, the feeling fades, and I’m left alone yet again.

Steve retires to bed early, but I wait at the kitchen table until nearly midnight, boredly stirring at a bowl of soggy cereal while I hope for Bucky to come walking through the doorway. He never does, and I finally dump my bowl in the sink and return to his room. Upon entering, I notice the bed neatly folded and the window cracked a bit. When I open a dresser drawer, a few shirts and pants are missing. His toothbrush is gone from the bathroom.

He’s been here.

The thought reassures me slightly and I slip under the neat covers. A few days sleeping alone and I’ve learned to ignore the absence of heat from Bucky’s body, but it always gives me a chill the first moment I crawl into bed or onto the couch. I snuggle up comfortably, albeit with some disappointment. Bucky’s disappearance is unnerving in itself, but his unseen presence I felt all day is more so.

I lay still in bed, but my mind continues to teem with thoughts that make it nearly impossible to sleep. Instead, I toss and turn restlessly under the sheets until I finally give up on sleep. I ignore the light switches and opt to pad to the kitchen in a dim silence, footsteps soft and serene on the wood. The kitchen looks eerie in the late night; silvery moonlight pours in asymmetrical rays through the large window and casts long shadows on the appliances and countertops. It lays on my skin in a nearly luminescent shimmer, giving me the appearance of a ghost. I feel like one, slipping silently through the kitchen for a glass. I find one in a cabinet and press the button on the chrome fridge that dispenses a silent stream of water.

Taking a seat facing the window, I gaze out at midnight Manhattan, all twinkling buildings and shadows. I tilt the cup to my lips, and that’s when I freeze. The cool glass is frozen a millimeter from my lips as an intense, erratic thumping sounds down the hallway. The heartbeat-like sound travels easily in the silent compound from the direction of the gym. I set down my glass.

Water forgotten, I follow the sound to the gym. There he is.

Damp brown locks whip around wildly as he pummels a punching bag with an array of powerful swings. The heavy bag jerks wildly under the enhanced assault and threatens to snap right off the hook. I linger in the shadows outside the gym unseen for a few moments, observing the man in front of me. Every so often a groan or grunt flies from his lips. At one point they begin to culminate into a constant flow of angry noises and harder punches until the bag finally gives way, flying off its hook and hitting the wall feet away.

Bucky pauses momentarily, chest heaving, before walking forward to pick it up again. That’s when I see his flesh hand- it’s swollen and purple at the knuckles, and covered in a glistening red. He hasn’t taped it. When he hangs up the bag yet again, I notice a large damp spot glistening in the middle of its black leather exterior. If I swiped it with my fingertip, I’m sure it would come off red and warm.

I brace myself for him to turn and see me, but he taps the bag once before cocking back a fist in order to begin a fresh onslaught of punching. Is he crazy? His hands are covered in blood and discolored with bruising. Pushing past a moment’s hesitation, I stride to the door and push it open.

Bucky speaks without looking up. “Don’t, Steve. I need this.” _Thump_. “I deserve the pain.”

Blood drips from his knuckles and onto the floor, where it takes the appearance of scattered red polka dots. I stare at them for a second before another thump against the bag jolts me back to reality. Swallowing, I approach him and grab a bicep slick with sweat. “Stop.”

“Shit!” he exclaims with surprise, recoiling quickly from me. His eyes widen as he looks me up and down, and I do likewise to him. A fresh cut mimics the shape of his eyebrow an inch above it, and another is raised on his cheekbone in the center of a blooming purple bruise. His lips bear a cut similar to Steve’s that he flicks nervously with his tongue. He backs away slowly and looks at the floor. “You shouldn’t be here.”

My tongue feels thick and unfamiliar in my mouth. “You’re hurting yourself,” I respond dumbly.

He looks down at his bloodied knuckles like he’s just seeing them for the first time. His eyes flit upward for a second before darting back to the floor. “I deserve it,” he says in a half-whisper. Then he repeats himself. “You shouldn’t be here.” When I don’t respond, he continues. “I told myself I’d never be allowed to see you again.”

I feel bile rising to my throat when I see him so vulnerable. It’s disturbing. I avert my eyes and look around to find something to occupy myself with. There’s a bench near a sink in the corner, where a small first aid kit hangs on the wall above. Upon further inspection, it contains gauze, bandages, alcohol swabs, gloves, and a few other medical supplies. I grab the gauze and alcohol and look over to Bucky. “Can you sit?” I ask quietly, patting the bench.

He hesitates before moving slowly, as if through water, to the bench. He sits and I take his bloodied hand gently into mine. Turning on the water, I place our hands underneath the gentle, warm trickle and rub his reddened skin gently. The water that swirls down the drain is a pale pink, and I continue rubbing until it turns clear again. Bucky stares at his hand as I pat it dry with a towel. When I open the alcohol swab, I warn him without meeting his eyes. “This will hurt.”

His jaw clenches when I first wipe the cool swab over his split knuckles. Every so often he’ll flinch and either consciously or unconsciously grip my hand tighter. Finally, I dispose of the towelette and sit next to him to wrap the gauze over his hand. Pieces of brown hair fall in front of his eyes, but I can feel them flicker up to my face every few moments.

“Why are you doing this?” he finally asks flatly, keeping his hand perfectly still for me. “You should hate me.”

I exhale as I wrap his damp skin in the thin fabric. I don’t tell him that the repetitive wrapping of his hand is almost just a method of calming my body when my mind is teeming and screaming at me. My brain wants me to slap him at the same time it wants me to scream at him, to talk to him, to kill him, and even to kiss him. Thinking about it all I begin to feel almost lightheaded, and focus harder on bandaging his hand.

“I want to hate you,” I mutter, tightening the fabric around his fingers. “Sometimes part of me wants to kill you.” I can see his face fall in my peripheral vision.

“But I can’t. I can’t blame you. I want to, so fucking bad. I want to be able to hate all of you for what some deranged part of you did to me. But I can’t.” I’m babbling now, my hands paused over his. “I can’t, and I hate myself for it. Why can’t I just hate you? You hurt me, and I’m just letting it go. I don’t want to.” I can feel him staring at me openly as I abandon the gauze to bury my head in my hands and fight off the burning tears that threaten to come.

“I feel so fucked up. Like I can’t think what I want to think. I-I feel like my mind has been… shattered, and I’m putting the pieces back together all wrong.”

Silence hangs in the room for a few subsequent moments, broken only by my gasping breaths as I try not to cry. Finally voicing the feelings that have been curled up like snakes inside me for days now brings a fresh bout of emotions brimming hot inside me. Anger, sadness, forgiveness, hurt, all float through my mind one moment after another like the tide: in, out, in, out. My fingernails dig into my scalp and I bite my tongue to keep from shouting out in anger. It’s in that split second, that mere glimpse in time, that I get a taste of what it felt like to be Bucky Barnes the night he had a mental breakdown in front of me.

A warm hand on my shoulder snaps me out of my reverie and I flinch slightly. When I look to Bucky, I can feel the cool air hit my face and realize that against my will, tears had stained my cheeks. His eyes still avoid mine, like it pains him to look at me.

“I know.”

The heavy guilt and pain in his voice tells me he does. He exhales deeply.

“I’m so sorry. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

“You can’t apologize for what you weren’t in control of,” I sigh.

He finally looks at me, his blue eyes flat and melancholy. “I know. But I did it.” The words are flat, rehearsed, like he’s said them many times before. His hand slips on top of mine on the bench and we both stare straight ahead. “I have to tell you something.”

“Okay.” Any politeness or need for buffer talk is lost between us- we simply speak our thoughts.

“I know why I snapped. That night. I just remember coming out and seeing you on the bed for a second before everything went hazy again. But I know why I…he… whoever was in control, why he lost it for a moment.” He takes a deep breath. “It wasn’t part of the plan. It messed everything up.”

“What did?” Bucky’s hand curls into a fist atop mine and when he looks at me, his eyes are shining.

“I fell in love with you.”

He swallows, and words begin to pour out of his mouth. “I could feel whatever part of me took you falling in love. He still loved the sex, but it became less about taking control and more about being with you. And in those calm periods after… that, he became attached. Sleeping next to you, talking to you, and making you his, it all made him feel good in a way he didn’t realize was love until it was too late. His sole purpose was to take control, but when that purpose fades away because he falls in love, there’s no reason for him anymore. So I snapped. He lost control.”

I flash back to the night he woke me and yelled at me to beg him, beg him not to have sex with me. He didn’t know what to do to stay obsessed with control. To stay in control of Bucky, he had to be obsessed with control of me. He couldn’t be when he was in love.

“It wasn’t just him. Every piece of me that’s broken inside of my head, every piece of my identity fell in love with you. And… I think I am too.”

His fist suddenly feels heavy on my hand, and I draw it into my lap. “A part of me still wants you, badly.” He turns to me quickly. “But I promise, I swear to God, I’ll never touch you again. I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry. I don’t expect anything. I don’t want anything. You should hate me, and I’m okay with that. Just…” he stops his babbling and closes his eyes. “Just know even though I think I’m in love with you, I’ll never act on it. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

I drink in his words for a moment. “I want to hate you,” I repeat for what feels like the thousandth time this minute. “B-but… I… god I feel so fucking stupid,” I groan, tears pricking in my eyes. My brain isn’t fighting itself anymore, and I know what I want to say. What I need to say. What I feel.

“Some part of me wants you, too,” I finally choke out. “Some part of me knew that the true you- the you sitting right here, I mean- I knew the real you was still inside you somewhere. And when you kissed me or… took me, gently, like you loved me… some part of me fell in love with that part of you. I guess I just wanted that part of you to come out so much and save me. I didn’t know it, but when you would be affectionate or kind I felt like I saw part of the true you. And I developed feelings for that part.”

A tear escapes my face now flushed with confusion and anger at myself. “I didn’t want to,” I say loudly, as if to convince myself I’m not insane. My head snaps to Bucky’s face, which is surprisingly calm. “Does that make me crazy?!”

“No,” he whispers. I run my hands through my hair hard, hoping the harsh tugs on my scalp like little bee stings can bring me back to earth. But all I end up with is a few hairs stuck between my fingers.

“I can’t do this anymore. I feel like I can’t trust my own mind. I’m so fucked up. I’m so fucking fucked up!” My fist slams onto the bench with the last word, and I realize I’m shouting. I stand, feeling like there’s bugs teeming within my body trying to escape. My skin is crawling all over me and I want to get out of it. I hate myself. My body buzzes and my head buzzes louder. Bucky watches me pace restlessly.

“I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m feeling things I don’t want to. I’m going crazy. I’m going crazy!” My palm slaps the wall but I can barely feel the sting.

“Stop.” Bucky is suddenly behind me. I pause, chest heaving, and turn to him. His face is wet with silent tears.

“I feel so broken.” My voice is a hoarse whisper. He simply stares at me with shiny blue eyes.

“I know.”

And that’s when he takes me in his arms, holding so tightly I don’t know if he’ll ever let go. I melt into his warm body and can feel my tears staining his shirt. He smells simple and earthy, not spicy like the days before. Large hands rub soothingly up and down my back as he slowly sits us back down on the bench. I don’t object when he pulls me onto his lap and holds me closely. I rest my head in the crook of his neck and try to calm down. Bucky seems to hesitate a moment before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to my temple. His lips are soft and loving, but he pulls away too quickly.

“I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” His body suddenly stiffens around mine with regret, but I don’t pull away. Some part of me wants to stay wrapped in his arms forever. To be with someone even more broken than me. So I lean up and get lost in those stupid beautiful eyes and straddle his thighs as I sit facing him.

“I’m not supposed to love you,” I say.

“Neither am I.”

“But some part of me does.”

“Me too.”

A pause, and I take a leap of faith. “Can I kiss you?”

“That’s all I want.”

“But it’s _you_.”

“I’m me.”

“You’re not the one who hurt me?” It’s a question, reassuring myself that what I want to do isn’t as wrong as it feels. This isn’t the man who took me.

“I’m not.”

“You’re Bucky.”

“I’m just Bucky.”

When I hesitate, he whispers, a warm breath that brushes my skin. “And I love you.”

“Okay.”

I grab his face and press my lips to his. It’s warm and sweet and full of emotion, unlike the rough, lusty kisses I’ve shared with him thus far. One hand lingers on the small of my back while the other drifts up to cup my cheek. He’s so warm and inviting and full of love; in merely seconds of kissing, I feel as if I fully know the real Bucky Barnes. Then I feel stupid, because how could I possibly know the real Bucky Barnes within only seconds of kissing? And then Bucky pulls away for a split second and mutters “ _stop_ _thinking_ ,” as he stares at my lips before pressing them against his again. So I do. I let myself get carried away in the warmth of his body, the softness of his lips, and his hands roaming my back and face.

When we finally break apart we’re breathing heavily. His lips are pink and slightly swollen, and I imagine mine must be the same.

“Was that wrong?” I mumble, playing with a few strands of hair that rest on his lashes. He chuckles lightly, and I can feel the rumble in his chest when he does.

“Everything’s wrong about this,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against my cheek. He sighs contentedly. “But if being with you is wrong, I don’t wanna be right.”

For the first time in days I actually smile. “You’re fucked up, y’know that?” I murmur into his shoulder.

He hums in agreement. ”Everyone is. I’m just a little more, and do a really shitty job of hiding it.”

We remain there in silence for a few moments before he straightens and looks me in the eye. His face is serious.

“I know. I’m fucked up. And in my fucked-upness, I fucked you up, bad. But the part of me that hurt you is gone. Its just me now. And I…I love you. I do. And I get it if you want to leave and go back to what you were doing before. You had a life that I stole away from you. But if you want to stay… I-I promise that I’ll never, ever hurt you. I’ll work on myself, and my issues. I just…” he shakes his head and looks away. “I need you, badly. You’re the only thing keeping me grounded, and you were the only thing keeping that other part of me grounded for so long. I don’t know what would happen if I lost you.”

He’s quiet for a moment but looks up quickly. “But if that’s what you want, I’m not going to stop you. I want the best for you.”

For a moment the offer entices me. I could go back to a normal life, blending in with the entirety of New York for God knows how long. I’ve never been the sole object of someone’s affections and desire, and the idea almost scares me. What if I’m not enough for him? But in merely seconds I realize I can never go back to my old way of life. I’m changed now, for better or worse, and I can’t go back. And the part of me that loves Bucky can’t go back either. Whether or not I like it, some part of me needs him too.

I look at the man in front of me, his hands resting on my hips. His teeth chew on his bottom lip subconsciously and he avoids my eyes. That’s when I realize his are wet and shining. He’s afraid. Every fiber of his being wants me to stay, but he’s sacrificing his own desires, no matter how strong they are, to give me the choice of my freedom. He’s so afraid I’ll leave him alone again. Just Bucky and his broken mind.

And that’s when I know what I want.

“I want to stay.”

His eyes widen and I can feel his hands tighten on my hips. “Really?” he gasps in a sort of whisper. “You- you don’t have to-“

“I want to,” I repeat. “I want you. I love you too, no matter how fucked up it is or how my brain thinks I should feel. I want to stay with you, and I want to make us work. You’re fucked up, yeah, but now I am too. And there’s no one else I’d rather be this fucked up with.”

A hot tear finally escapes Bucky’s eye as he stares at me with some kind of infatuation. I brush it away and he leans forward to wrap his arms around me tightly. He finally laughs, a garbled, relieved laugh that lets a few more tears loose. “Thank god, thank god. I need you so much. I love you.” He whispers my name like a prayer as he holds onto me.

I don’t speak, and he quickly pulls back to look at me concernedly. “What’s wrong?”

“I just… it’s stupid. But I’m worried that I won’t be enough for you. Us. I feel so broken right now, like part of a person. I don’t know. But what if I’m not enough?” His eyes fall slightly, but he gives me a soft smile. A hand caresses my face gently, soothingly.

“You don’t understand. You’re everything I need. You could never not be enough for me, because you’re my everything. You’re all I have and all I need. And sure, we’re both a little broken. A lot broken. But you’re right. There’s no one else I’d rather be this fucked up with.”

His words flood me with a strange relief, and when he leans forward to capture my lips in another kiss, in all this overwhelming wrongness, Bucky is the one thing that feels just a little bit right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I’m so proud of where this story has gone. We’re not done yet, I’ve got a little bit left before we finish this one off. Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments! They mean everything :) check in soon for an update!


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “At the end of the day, it isn’t where I came from. Maybe home is somewhere I’m going and have never been before.”
> 
> -Warsan Shire
> 
> —
> 
> Fluff and some fluffy- consensual- smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has followed this story! Your kudos and comments mean everything! I’m so proud of what it became from what I planned to just be a one shot. Thank you for your patience- this chapter takes us home.

_One Month Later_

Christmas hymns waft through the air from hidden speakers, welcoming the morning with soft bells and crooning voices wishing tidings of comfort and joy. The kettle in front of me seemingly decides to join in as it emits a shrill whistle accompanied by a puff of steam.

Removing it from the stove, I pour the boiling water into each of the mugs in front of me. I’m entranced by the way the water hits the teabags to release a swirl of dark purple, and I don’t hear the footsteps approaching behind me. A pair of strong arms wrap around my waist and I can feel a warm, stubbled face burrow into my neck. My hand drifts up to absentmindedly play with the soft brown locks that tickle my skin.

“Good morning,” Bucky murmurs. I turn to face him and snake my arms up around his neck, holding him tightly. He smells clean, like fresh laundry. He kisses my forehead, then dips lower to press a warm kiss against my lips. Even now it still ignites a flurry of warmth in my stomach.

“You look beautiful,” he mumbles, his eyes raking over my face and body. Warm hands drop to my hips and hold me close. “So do you,” I smile, brushing some hair out of his eyes. “How’d you sleep?”

He sighs. “Better, actually. The nightmares are weaning off. _He_ had worse ones, though, so I’m used to it. Lesser of two evils, huh?” Bucky’s voice is light, but an edge lingers underneath it.

I press my lips together and hold him closer to me. I’m no stranger to nightmares plaguing the long hours of the nighttime. I hand Bucky a mug of tea and he wordlessly grabs a few bagels and some fruit to set on the table. Steve enters not soon after, blearily plopping down in a chair and grunting a greeting to me and Bucky.

It took more than a few hours of forced talking between the two centenarians, but the strong underlying bond between them soon shone through. Bucky needed his friend back, and Steve’s intense guilt was not unfamiliar to him- he, too, experienced some of it every day of his life.

Steve still struggles sometimes with me. I’ll catch him staring blankly in my general direction, his mind far away as the memories of what he did to me scream reproachfully at him. That’s when I snap a finger in front of his face, speaking when he flinches and the glassiness in front of his eyes clears. It’s always the same thing.

“Give me the date?”

He’ll clench his jaw and glance at his watch, giving me the year, month, day, hour, minute, and second- slowly, carefully, and in that order. Then when the sullen baby blues return to my eyes, I’ll push on his shoulder. “Stay here.”

It’s our way of keeping him in the present, living in the moment instead of constantly regretting and grieving over the past. Sure, it’s less conventional than some modern conflict-resolution involving hours of being forced to relive the past in front of a therapist or each other. It’s not a mature discussion involving a memorized apology or long-winded explanations. It can’t fully resolve everything. But it’s simple and powerful and keeps us both grounded. It allows us to live.

The three of us watch the sun come up through the large glass panels that make up an entire wall facing the city. Steve splits up the daily paper, grabbing the sports section for himself, handing me the crossword and tossing Bucky the comics and home section. While I get to work finding an eight-letter word for “dialect” (language), Bucky immediately flips to the recipes. He’s been teaching himself how to cook, apparently for the second time. He mentioned once remembering that he would cook for his siblings when his mother was busy working tirelessly to support her family. His memory proved correct: he quickly picked up his way around the kitchen and can often be found there, working on some new tasty endeavor for me to try. His eyes always light up with pride when I approve, and I always do. He’s a natural.

“That looks good,” he murmurs now, nudging me lightly underneath the table with his toe. He points to a recipe and I hum in agreement. Steve pores over the baseball results, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration. These are our mornings: quiet, harmonious, and completely peaceful.

“Tony’s coming back from vacation with Pepper tonight,” Steve mentions while the three of us clean dishes. “Nat’s returning from something with Fury, too. Tony wanted to have drinks, so everyone else will probably come by, too.” 

Bucky passes me a plate to dry, his eyes lingering on my face concernedly as I stare forward. After a few wipes the plate is dry, but I keep rubbing circles over it, my mind far from the kitchen. What would I tell them about my sudden residence in the tower? The truth wasn’t an option. Would they be suspicious? Would they judge? They probably wouldn’t like me. What would I call Bucky? We’ve never really talked about what to call ourselves. Obviously we’re together. But “romantically” sounds wrong. We aren’t an affectionate, aesthetic romance. We are a part of each other, a piece of the other embedded deeply within ourselves because each of us is too fucked to possibly be alone. 

Steve notices Bucky peering at me worriedly and leans over to lightly nudge my shoulder, breaking me out of my reverie. “Hey, give me the date?” 

I sigh and recite the words, giving Steve a small smile that he returns before turning back to the sink. Bucky lays a soft kiss in my hair. “It’ll be fine. I promise,” he says, bumping me lightly with his hip. I flick his metal arm with a soft _ting_. I trust him.

 

That evening I lay next to Bucky in bed, watching the snow fall lazily outside. It collects on the windowsill and melts on the glass, blurring the twinkling lights outside. Bucky’s breath is warm on my neck where he nuzzles his face lightly. I yawn. “What are we gonna tell them?” I murmur into the darkness, trailing a fingertip up Bucky’s flesh arm. 

His hand lays warm on my waist. “Us?” he replies gruffly. I nod. His face tilts up to mine, touching my nose with his own.  “I want to tell them the truth.” 

For a second I pause, confused about what he means. But he continues. “ I want to tell them that we’re together. That I’m yours, and you’re mine. That you’re my entire world, and I would burn everything to the ground if it meant keeping you by my side.” 

The words send a flutter down my tummy, and I return his goofily large smile. He lays a kiss on my lips, then another, and another. I run a hand through his hair and he lugs me on top of himself, kissing me with a warm passion and warmer lips. His hands slip down to hold on to my hips.  When we part for air, he gazes at me intensely. Our thoughts are one and the same. 

“Are you sure you’re ready?” he asks, holding me gently but tightly at the same time. 

We have yet to have a sexual encounter after he emerged as Bucky. We don’t talk about what he did to me as James. In regard to the relationship we have now, the truly loving one, we have never given ourselves to each other sexually. I study his perfect face, the one I wake up to every morning and fall asleep next to every night. The one I fell in love with.

“I’m ready.”

Bucky smiles and leans up to kiss me again. “I love you,” he mutters against my lips. “Tell me what you want, I’ll do it.” 

“Bucky… I just want you. I want to be yours.” 

“And I want to be yours.” He slowly maneuvers himself atop me, never moving his lips from mine. Gently, so gently, his knees prod apart my legs. He strips us both of our clothes slowly, running his flesh hand over my newly exposed skin, bringing his lips down to christen each inch with a soft kiss. The lips rise to my neck, licking and sucking my flesh tenderly, very careful not to leave marks. 

A thigh wanders between my legs, the knee slowly running up my right leg. When it finally prods gently at my core I moan into Bucky’s lips, whining for more. He grinds his knee in circles against my dampening flesh, increasing the pressure each time I moan for more. The delicious motions pull every drop of wetness from within me, soaking my core and leaking onto his knee. Finally the knee drifts away, making me whimper at the loss of contact. 

I can feel a gentle prodding at my entrance, and Bucky looks up at me concernedly. “Are you _sure_?” 

“Yes, Bucky, please,” I nearly beg, thrusting my hips toward him. He smiles and kisses me, the prodding at my core becoming more insistent. 

“I love you,” he whispers, finally thrusting himself inside of me. When he moans I can feel an intense tingling in my core. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever heard come from his lips. He builds a steady pace, his bottom half rocking inside me as his mouth kisses and nips and suckles at my skin. I wiggle my hips up to meet his thrusts and he groans against my skin. 

Suddenly his flesh hand moves from its place wound in my hair to between my legs, the pad of his thumb rubbing my clit in gentle circles. Now my hips buck up in pleasure, my nails digging into his muscle bound shoulders as he drops his head to the crook of my neck. I can feel every sensation as if it’s one and it’s own: the cool metal hand wrapped around my waist to hold me close to his body, his hair tickling my skin, his deep breathing in my ear, his hardness deep inside me, his thumb on my clit. 

The pleasure starts to build inside me, threatening to snap into a thousand blissful pieces. “Fuck, tell me you’re close baby,” Bucky moans in my ear, his thrusts becoming erratic.

“Yes Bucky, please, baby,” I groan in reply, so, so close to the edge. Bucky increases the speed and pressure on my clit, plunging himself so deeply inside me that my toes curl. A few more pushes and I explode, trembling in Bucky’s sweaty arms as I come undone beneath him. The pleasure pulses in every cell of my being, starting and finishing with a sweet thundering in my core. 

Suddenly Bucky cries out my name as he thrusts deeply inside me and stills there, lips parted and eyes closed in bliss. I can feel his warmth coat my walls, and the intimacy of it all makes my heart race. Bucky lowers himself onto me gently, our sweaty skin gluing us to each other. His hot breath penetrates my ear.  “I’m in love with you. Completely in love with you.” 

I kiss his jawline, still trembling slightly from the powerful orgasm. “I love you, too.” 

He smiles and it’s as genuine as the first time he ever truly smiled at me, as Bucky. He snuggles on top of me and kisses the lobe of my ear. “I’m yours, y’know that? All yours. Every inch of me is just for you.”

 

 

I grip my drink tightly. Bucky’s arm is tightly wound around me as we sit on the couch together, surrounded by Avengers, all laughing, drinking, and talking. When the conversation finally turns to me and Bucky, I nearly shiver under the sets of eyes studying me curiously.

“So what is… this?” Tony Stark himself asks, sipping his cocktail eloquently. 

I freeze, inside of what to say. “Um… I guess he’s my…” 

“Hers,” Bucky finishes. His fingers rub my waist reassuringly. 

“I’m hers.” 

He is mine. At the end of this long, twisted road, everything comes down to the two words he repeats once more. “I’m hers.” And I am his, as he is mine. And despite all the fucked up parts of what brought me to Bucky, in all the fucked up parts residing within the both of us, we’re here. With each other. Just me and Bucky. 

 

Taking Control.

 


End file.
